Literary and Film Examples

A Literary Example

Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Brontë, 1847 By Simona Mazziotti

Charlotte Brontë's novel tells the life story of Jane Eyre from the first-person perspective, making it an autobiography written by a Self-Preservation 4. The thoughts, emotions, and impulses that govern and structure Jane's character are clearly revealed, especially considering that she was orphaned at birth and entrusted to her uncles.

The first ten years of her life are spent in a strict boarding school environment, heavily influenced by Catholicism, from which she absorbs a certain numinous quality. Later, she becomes a governess at Mr. Rochester's house, where she falls in love with him.

The story opens with a description of Jane's life at eight years old, living in a family environment marked by emotional coldness, humiliation, mistreatment, and injustice — all typical elements of the deprived environment in which a Self-Preservation 4 thrives.

Orphaned at birth, Jane lives with her aunt, the widow of her mother's brother, who has three children slightly older than Jane.

Jane does not receive the same treatment as her cousins. She is isolated and mistreated by her aunt, excluded from family life because she is perceived as unsociable and distant. Her aunt’s sadistic attitude toward her is subtly conveyed when she admits: “I was sorry to have to keep myself at a distance, but I could see that Jane was making serious efforts to assume a sociable attitude, typical of a boy her age, with amiable manners and a more spirited demeanor… but she was forced to exclude me from privileges intended only for happy, contented children.”

Jane describes herself as resigned, accustomed to feeling unworthy, seeking solace in reading, contemplating nature, and drawing when she had the opportunity to be alone: “I felt happy, happy in my own way.” She also acknowledges a deep fury in the face of what she perceived as unjust, unrecognized, and unacknowledged.

Her cousin John harasses her, and although she suffers in silence, terror eventually takes over, transforming her feelings into a rebellion. Her fury erupts when she lashes out at him. The adults, however, only see her anger and punish her by locking her in the room where her uncle, her benefactor, had died. Desperate, she appeals to her deceased uncle for protection, invoking divine justice (a common theme for the character).

She later reflects on this traumatic experience, which continues to haunt her: “I never doubted that, if Mr. Reed were alive, he would treat me kindly… I thought that if this rapid, flickering glow heralded a vision from the other world…” It becomes clear later in the novel that her uncle had genuinely cared for her, even more so than for his own children, which incited her aunt's jealousy. She had promised her husband to care for Jane as if she were her own daughter, which fostered a deep, natural resentment toward her.

In the household, Jane found solace in the kindness of one governess, Bessie, who occasionally showed compassion: “When she was kind, Bessie was the loveliest, most gracious creature in the world. I wished she could always be so, and stop treating me as she did, with reproaches and absurd demands.”

Jane is eventually sent to a boarding school, which turns out to be her salvation. When Jane hears the news, she reflects: "This situation, given my accustomed life of constant blame and misunderstood efforts, should have been a haven of peace."

At the boarding school, she endures physical hardship, cold, and malnutrition (many girls die of tuberculosis in the Lowood boarding school, an incident that sparks a scandal and leads to better conditions). Despite these challenges, her dedication to her studies earns her recognition. Jane spends much of her time alone, enjoying walks in nature: “I often

enjoyed this sight, standing alone at the top of my lungs, free and unobserved, and almost always alone.” At school, she befriends Helen Burns, who is kind to her, and whom Jane accompanies loyally until Helen’s death from tuberculosis. Jane remarks on Helen: “She knew how to inspire a desire for higher and nobler things in those fortunate enough to hear her, and I knew it, and I felt it.”

Helen sees Jane for who she is, telling her: “In your passionate eyes and your pure gaze, I see a sincere nature.” Jane gradually earns appreciation for her commitment, perseverance, and discipline. From being a student, she becomes a teacher, but when Miss Temple — the emotional anchor for Jane after Helen’s death — marries and leaves the school, Jane feels a loss of purpose. “From the day she left, I was never the same.”

It wasn't so much the loss of support that diminished her; it was the loss of her sense of purpose: "May I be granted at least one new servitude: freedom, exaltation, pleasure, sounds that are truly delightful… but they remain only sounds to me. Servitude, however, is concrete."

Thus begins a new phase for Jane, barely eighteen, when she finds a job as a governess through an ad in the newspaper. She is greeted with kindness and consideration from the housekeeper, Miss Fairfax. Jane is surprised by the attention, a stark contrast to the neglect she has known before: “I felt a bit confused by all the attention, especially since it was my new employer, my superior, who gave it to me.” She experiences a flood of gratitude: “A feeling of gratitude filled my heart, and I knelt down. I asked for strength to earn the benevolence that had been so kindly given to me before I truly deserved it.”

It is at this stage that she meets Mr. Rochester, the master of the estate, who is much older than she is (she is eighteen, he is forty). He becomes the love of her life, and this is where her masochistic tendencies are clearly revealed. Initially, Jane’s involvement with Mr. Rochester is born out of obedience. Though she complies, she is honest and direct, which pleases Mr. Rochester — a man who is rude, brusque, restless, and tormented. In Jane, he finds a special soul who can rescue him from despair with her freshness and nobility of spirit. “I did what I was commanded, although I would have preferred to remain in the shadows. But Mr. Rochester had such a peremptory way of issuing orders that it seemed natural to obey him instantly.”

Mr. Rochester says of Jane: “You, with your earnestness, your delicacy, and your prudence, seem made to receive secrets. The more we talk, the better, for I cannot contaminate you, but you can purify me.”

Jane, for her part, is deeply drawn to this unease and would do anything to alleviate it: “I cannot deny that his pain was also mine, whatever it was, and I would have done anything to ease it.”

She describes her relational strategy: “With him, I had developed the delicious art of alternating prompting with flattery. It was one of my greatest pleasures, and an instinct of self-preservation kept me from going too far; I never ventured beyond the limit of provocation. When it was about to cross that line, I knew how to use all my skills.”

Rochester makes Jane believe that he wants to marry Blanche, “a refined lady of quality,” by forcing her to attend a reception where he courts Blanche. Jane, a governess, sits in a corner, enduring Blanche’s poisonous remarks about the uselessness and bitterness of governesses. This is part of the masochistic erotic game between Jane and Mr. Rochester, to whom she secretly feels an irresistible attraction. The envy Jane feels toward Blanche’s sunny, extravagant beauty takes on a self-destructive form, manifesting as ruthless self-criticism: “There was never, on the face of the earth, a dumber person than Jane Eyre. A poor delusional who has stuffed herself with sweet lies, swallowing poison as if it were nectar…”

Jane will demonstrate all her tenacity when Mr. Rochester, trusting her to care for Mr. Mason — who has been badly injured — entrusts her with his care. She spends the entire night cleaning his blood, stoic, inflexible, and tireless, determined to prove her loyalty to Mr. Rochester (and, perhaps, to satisfy the demands of her lover, whose affection she fears losing if she does not fulfill the task).

When Mr. Rochester proposes to marry Jane, she is overjoyed, but she remains stubborn and determined to preserve her autonomy: “The more things he bought me, the more I felt my stomach burn… my cheeks flushed with a feeling of annoyance and humiliation… I just want to feel at ease, sir, not burdened by a great obligation to you.”

Jane's Story

At the wedding altar, Jane discovers that Rochester is already married, leaving her feeling hopelessly betrayed. He flees aimlessly, without resources, convinced that he must rely solely on his own strength. "The more alone I am, the more without friends and without support, the more I have to respect myself." After a long and exhausting journey, she arrives at the house of San Juan, nearly dying. There, she finds the warmth and care of Diana and María, sisters of Saint John. San Juan, the village priest, is a strict man but offers her a job as a teacher in a small school, with a modest house attached to it. This provides Jane with the opportunity to live with dignity, supported by her work and total autonomy. San Juan is especially impressed by Jane's perseverance and dedication to her teaching duties.

Though Jane seems content with her stable life, she is tormented by thoughts of Mr. Rochester and wishes to hear from him. Her life changes when she learns that she has

inherited a large fortune from an uncle who is also the relative of Diana, María, and San Juan, making them her cousins. Despite this unexpected inheritance, Jane decides to divide it into four equal parts, happy to consider her cousins as her brothers, and feeling that she has found a family.

The young San Juan, soon to depart as a missionary to the Indies, asks Jane to join him in his mission, seeing in her the same religious fervor he possesses. He proposes marriage, but Jane, driven by a spirit of sacrifice, is willing to accompany him as a sister—something he cannot accept.

Determined to marry Mr. Rochester, Jane finds him blind and crippled from a fire started by his insane wife, who took her own life by jumping from a burning roof. Now, Jane is ready to marry him and care for him forever. She describes their love: "Being together means, for us, feeling both as free as when we are alone and as happy when we are in company."

Some Film Examples

Two films are chosen to exemplify the character form of the E4: Roman Polanski's Tess (1979) and David Lean's Lawrence of Arabia (1962). For both, there is a brief summary followed by an analysis of the protagonists' characters—how they face, react, and navigate the challenges they experience. The intention is to highlight the dynamics of character, particularly focusing on the essential traits of E4, especially how envy transforms into effort and tenacity.

Despite the different contexts and stories, the prominence of the superego—its judgmental and punitive aspect—emerges strongly, overshadowing the underdeveloped maternal aspects and a lack of a playful or enthusiastic approach to life.

Tess (1979)

Directed by Roman Polanski By Antonella Sabia

Summary

Set in 19th-century England, the story follows the poor D'Uberfyield family, with Tess as the eldest daughter. After learning from her father that their family has noble origins, Tess is sent to meet supposed relatives to strengthen ties and gain some economic benefit. Though she disapproves, Tess obeys and goes to meet the relatives, who, in typical fashion of the time, have acquired a title of nobility to bolster their social standing.

Tess attracts the attention of a false cousin due to her beauty and is hired to work in the family chicken coop. However, the cousin's intentions become clear, and Tess suffers violence and becomes pregnant. She briefly agrees to be his lover but, upon discovering her pregnancy, returns to her father's house. There, she resumes work in the fields while caring for her son, who tragically dies from malnutrition. The dishonor of Tess's return prevents her father from allowing a doctor or the parish priest to assist her. Consequently, Tess cannot give her son a Christian burial, and during the unofficial ceremony, she names him Pain.

Tess then moves to a dairy farm where the environment is more peaceful, and she falls in love with a young farmer who plans to start his own business. He proposes marriage, but Tess struggles with guilt over her past and cannot accept. She wants to confess to him, but cannot until after the wedding. Upon hearing her confession, her husband reacts harshly, disowning her. The couple separates, and he goes to Brazil to start his own business. Humiliated and rejected, Tess seeks comfort from a friend and returns to work in the fields.

Her cousin offers to help her, and after initial rejection, Tess accepts, especially after her husband’s father dies and his family is left in dire conditions. Tess's story culminates when her husband returns, repentant, but Tess, now married to her cousin, chooses to stay with him. In a desperate act of madness, Tess kills her cousin and runs away with her true love. However, their brief flight ends when she is caught by the gendarmes and executed. She lives one final night of love with her husband before her death. Tess is stopped during her escape when she steps on ancient pagan stones used for sacrifices.

Analysis of the Film According to the Aspects of the Protagonist

The film can be divided into three main parts: the first part opens with the spring dance and ends with the loss of Tess's son; the second part describes the protagonist's love, marriage, and subsequent separation; and the third part concludes the narrative. This division into three phases serves to highlight Tess's personal journey from maiden to woman, illustrating how, through the intertwining of events, certain mechanisms arise cyclically, gaining more strength as opposing events unfold.

The First Phase

The first phase begins with a green landscape, the backdrop of the Spring Festival, where Tess, along with other girls, dances in preparation for the village festival that celebrates the arrival of spring and the blooming of flowers. This event marks the incipient beginning of Tess's adventures, as well as the blossoming of her personal life. During this phase, her

parents ask Tess to visit some false relatives, holders of the title of Uberville, with the aim of obtaining economic advantages. This situation places Tess in a marginal position, as shown by the scene of a nocturnal dance among workers inside a barn, where Tess does not participate. In this moment, as in others when the service personnel gather, her shame of showing herself, of remaining in the background, and of not mixing with others is explicit. Despite this, she maintains a proud attitude, saying, "If I had known what you were like, I never would have enlisted."

Tess holds onto an idealized version of herself to feel different from the other workers with whom she shares daily tasks. She shies away from the possibility of integrating into a small community that could provide support. Her reluctance and inability to trust others are exposed when, in one scene, Tess is verbally assaulted after laughing at a girl who accidentally spills molasses. Although everyone present laughs at the incident, the girl lashes out at Tess.

This scene, connected with the earlier one in which Tess stays away from the group, suggests that the distance she places between herself and others prevents her from participating in moments of shared joy and hilarity. While everyone else feels equal, Tess's positioning, both in terms of her uniqueness and her suffering, attracts the antipathy and anger of others. Her actions reflect a deeper fear—an inability to show vulnerability or express her feelings, which are hidden behind her haughty attitude. Furthermore, Tess's behavior can be interpreted as an adherence to her inner sense of purity, striving to atone for what she considers her innate faults. This leads her to ridicule the simple, daily pleasures of life, unable to value the lighter, more enjoyable aspects of existence.

It is no coincidence that when Tess spontaneously laughs, she quickly withdraws, signaling an internal prohibition—a result of her own actions and beliefs.

The chain of events clearly illustrates how Tess's defense of the group, and her surrender into her cousin's hands, will lead her into even worse circumstances. A peasant paraphrases this shift: "from the frying pan into the fire," foreshadowing the act of violence Tess will soon endure.

For a short time, Tess becomes her cousin's lover, who frees her from the obligations of hard labor and offers her a comfortable life. However, Tess cannot accept this, which only makes her more unhappy. The transition from a working woman to a lady of the house marks a change Tess feels incapable of embracing, both because she lacks sincere feelings for this man and because she cannot abandon the life of continuous work, hardship, and struggle that she knows so well. Thus, she decides to leave and end the relationship, taking the fruit of their union with her.

Upon returning home, Tess devotes herself to the laborious tasks of farming and raising her child, whom she struggles to feed. Due to a lack of sufficient food, the child dies without being baptized. Tess's father refuses to allow the parish priest into their home, denying the existence of the child—an illegitimate one, which he views as another source of shame, further adding to his already painful condition of marginalization and poverty.

In this particular scene, Tess's father bitterly addresses the priest: "Tell your God I work like a dog," reaffirming his aversion to a paternal figure that he experiences as hostile and punitive.

Tess names her son "Pain," symbolizing her personal experience, the fruit of her life, and her ongoing suffering. When she goes directly to the priest to ask for a Christian burial for her son and is denied, Tess reacts fiercely, seeing this refusal as yet another rejection of her desire to belong. At the same time, it represents her reluctance to be part of the world. The underlying request appears to be an attempt to have her pain accepted by the community, through the Christian burial as a way to join the community of God's children. This moment is an attempt to tear away the deep feelings of condemnation and resignation that plague her. Once again, rejection underscores the impossibility of feeling included in the world of men and the Kingdom of God.

Tess buries her son in a dark and desolate place, where the harshness of the landscape mirrors the severity of the moment. Only the dry, dark earth holds her suffering, which she keeps in silence, without sharing it with anyone.

Thus ends the first phase of the film, marking Tess's transition from naive childhood to the brutality of life. She finds herself at the mercy of deceit and abuse, responding by retreating into herself and cutting off contact with the outside world.

Hard work becomes her only means of survival, yet also a form of self-frustration, a punishment for the guilt she feels—not only for her illicit relationship with her cousin but also for the original sin of merely existing, condemned to a life of atonement.

The Second Phase

The second phase opens with Tess starting a new job, emphasizing her painful emotional transitions. Whereas before, she worked in the fields, in this phase, the setting shifts to a dairy farm.

Having previously been related to masculine, paternal figures (Father, Cousin, Parrotín), accepting primary aspects of herself like aggression, sexual drives, and anger, Tess now seems to open up to the maternal relationship—awakening her femininity.

It is here that Tess falls in love for the first time with a man, Ángel, who works at the farm as a farmer's apprentice. Ángel is imbued with progressive ideas (including Marx's Capital) and possesses a proud, narcissistic, and ambitious character.

Ángel first notices Tess during a meal when they discuss the soul. Tess contributes her thoughts, sharing her own spiritual experience and how she perceives the soul through her connection to the heavens.

Her expression of spirituality—marked by simplicity and intuition—reveals an aspect of Tess's personality: a personal inclination, an ideal, and a refuge from the exhausting and painful realities of life. It is also the path she chooses for her existence.

Tess's intervention in the conversation makes her visible to Ángel, who falls in love with her—not only because of her beauty but also because she embodies an immaculate, ethereal image. Their love story unfolds quickly, leading to a marriage proposal.

In this phase, which reconnects Tess to the feminine principle, the mother figure reappears through a letter inviting Tess to accept the marriage proposal without acknowledging her past. This invitation reflects an impulse to begin anew, free from the weight of past events. However, Tess, unable to shake off her feelings of guilt, does not know how to let go.

Although Tess loves Ángel and wants to marry him, she is still tormented by guilt, fear, and the need to confess her past: the violence she endured, her relationship with her cousin, and its consequences. Deep down, she wants to reveal herself, to show her suffering in a purifying act, hoping for forgiveness she cannot grant herself. She decides to write a letter to Ángel, revealing her entire life and entrusting him with the power to shape her future. In this passage, another aspect of Tess's character becomes evident: her dedication to the other person, surrendering her happiness and unhappiness to him, renouncing responsibility for herself and her own life’s direction.

Tess loves Ángel in a totalizing way, devoid of nuances, as is typical of this specific character, who is inclined to idealize the other to the point of ceasing to feel herself, in an act of total self-sacrifice. "Which are my hands and which are yours?" they ask. Tess replies, "They are all yours."

The letter, however, gets stuck under the rug in the man's room, a coincidence that seems to complicate the situation, but also offers the possibility of simplifying it by leaving the past behind. Tess arrives on the wedding day still keeping this secret. Only after the wedding, when her husband has also confessed to a previous affair, does Tess find the courage to share her past. Her husband's reaction is very different from what Tess would have expected; she finds herself disowned and abandoned before they can consummate their love. Even this moment of happiness, briefly touched, is taken from her. It is the second

time that Tess ascends to a state of greater well-being (both interior and exterior), but even in this situation, she cannot maintain it.

After being abandoned, she sheds her lady’s clothes and puts on peasant attire, returning to a primal and earthly condition of deprivation and loneliness.

She spends the night outdoors, in an improvised bed, in a bare autumn forest with fallen leaves. She wakes up as a result of a noise made by a deer and, as if waking from a lethargy, not only physical but also spiritual, she expresses a simple concept, dictated once again by a spiritually denoted perspective: "Everything is vanity!" The pain she feels due to the early and unexpected separation from her husband appears sublimated by an attitude that attempts to resize the feeling. At the same time, it makes contact with a deeper truth, where pain, suffering, and the fatigue of living are nothing more than a narcissistic form of self-recognition—a way of attributing form, a visibility, precisely the reflection of a specific form of vanity.

Fatigue and the recovery of the humble condition of working the land invariably follow the moments of greatest suffering, as if wanting to find a possible contact with the origin in the land, but also to distance oneself from the internal discomfort due to the exhaustion of the body. This also concludes the second phase of the film, which shows Tess's relationship with love, with her feminine side, and with the land that always serves as a backdrop to her story—at the same time a container for her pain and a source of survival.

In the third and final part, Tess, alone again, turns to her only friend, whom she met while working at the dairy, and who warmly welcomes her despite the fact that she too is in a very uncomfortable state. The young woman leads Tess to a new crop field with wet and muddy soil. Here, she is joined by her cousin, Alec, who tries to coax her out of her penurious state and offers to look after her.

Tess, obstinate and proud, refuses the help and is harshly taunted by her cousin, who shows her that her obtuse and haughty tenacity is an instrument of resistance at the service of her continuous and unfailing process of atonement—"pride has become your hair shirt"—and that by sustaining such a condition, she is exceeding the limits of all reasonableness.

Once again, Tess's character emerges in the deepest sense of intense effort, encompassing self-mortification, her counter-dependence, and her inability to accept outside help, which, in the thought form of the character under scrutiny, implies the fear of losing the strength to face life independently, experienced as constant danger and suffering.

The only motivation that drives her to accept her cousin's offer is the need to assume the fate of her mother and her brothers after the death of her father. One can indirectly intuit in

this decision the role of Tess's mother, who wanders the streets with her children and a cart full of their belongings, looking for a place to stay.

Turned back into her cousin's lover and having found a new home for the family, Tess maintains a state of melancholy and dissatisfaction that becomes unbearable when Ángel returns to her, repentant of his actions, and asks for her forgiveness. If at first he shows coldness, judging an irremediable distance, soon after he sinks into a state of despair that his cousin/lover mocks, treating his grief as something unbearable, boring, and repetitive. Tess, perhaps to get closer to her lawful husband whom she still loves, perhaps because of the accumulated rage toward her cousin from the past and this new derision, mortally wounds him. He then leaves the house, reaches Ángel, confesses his feat, and joins him. There is little time left for the reunited couple, however, as it doesn't take long for the guards to arrive to arrest (and execute) Tess. But they have one night, in which they will be able to live that moment of love, romance, and union that Tess had pursued and strongly desired. Tess, in the violent gesture by which she frees herself from the chains of mistreatment she has suffered throughout her existence, performs an act of self-affirmation—perhaps the only one in which she decides her own path while paying, once again, a great price for her choice of love. Although the fate that awaits her is not made explicit, the director shows Tess dozing on the ruins of the Stone Age, an ancient temple where sacrifices to the gods were made, in a final gesture of self-sacrifice.

Tess's typical character traits can be traced in the Self-Preservation 4 character structure, as we find there a constant effort, materially applied in undergoing hard work, functional in silencing the preponderance of her own inner world, an exhaustion to stay isolated. Self-isolation, in turn, allows Tess to maintain her position, painful as it may be, but still with diversity and originality. But diversity arises from guilt, with which she identifies (I must be guilty) to justify the events that happen to her.

In conclusion, it can be said that Tess experiences two central relationships with men: initially with her cousin, Alec, and later with Ángel, her husband. If with the first she experiences a not very loving and very carnal relationship, with the second the relationship becomes ethereal and spiritual, as if in these two sentimental stories Tess manifested two aspects of herself—her most instinctive passion and devout spirituality—aspects, however, that fail to integrate. She loses her son due to malnutrition and the lack of food and material resources that she herself lacks, that she has not received or been able to give herself.

In her soul, the identification with an indifferent and exploitative maternal part is exacerbated. The masculine principle, the father himself, and the priest—the other two central figures that mark Tess's story—stand as punishing, insensitive, and distant profiles in Tess's internal structure, as the punitive superego.

Tess represents the difficulty of Self-Preservation 4 to harmonize the three parts of the mother, the father, and the son, showing how these crystallize in neurotic forms typical of the analyzed character—lack of self-healing and self-love, ruthless and punishing judgment, and, finally, the repression of vitality and eros, understood in all its broadest facets.

Analysis of the Film According to Aspects of the Protagonist

The film traces the epic, psychological, and military exploits of the protagonist. It begins with his funeral, crowded with people, where several characters of the time speak about the man who was a poet, a humanist, a brave individual, but also a shameless exhibitionist, unable to truly define his deepest personal traits or express diametrically opposed opinions.

In the first part of the film, which takes us back through his life, Lawrence reveals some of his strong character traits in his relationships with his comrades-in-arms and with authority. He smugly manifests his resistance to pain as a game of wills, putting out a match with his fingers. “The trick is not to worry that it hurts,” he says, expressing superiority and aggressiveness in his always ostentatious dialectic (and polemical) style, camouflaging his aggression with humor. He confronts military hierarchies, trying to impress them with a manner that swings between obsequiousness and impertinence, finally declaring openly and with some arrogance: “I’ll have fun!” when ordered to go to the desert to help the army stationed in Arabia—an onerous task due to the adverse conditions of the territory.

At first, an unpleasant image emerges of an arrogant and haughty man, seemingly unable to relate. Thus begins the journey through the grandiose image of the desert—the rising sun, the blue night dotted with stars. It’s a kind of calling that Lawrence responds to: (“I come from England, a fat land.” “But you're not fat.” “I’m different.”)

This passage is underscored in an exchange between Lawrence and Prince Faisal, where the latter declares his desire to restore the ancient splendor of the Arab people, vindicating the war initiated by his own father. Lawrence’s freeze frame seems to capture his inner movement, as if he wants to convey the burning feeling of someone who intensely wants to embody that miracle. It seems this is the only way he can begin his journey—crossing the desert, accepting hard and dangerous challenges—since he is driven by an ideal and the possibility of embarking on a heroic path. The spark that allows him to translate thought and emotion into action is tenacity, aiming for what seems impossible, pursuing a result considered unattainable. Effort, therefore, becomes a tool to achieve the feat.

At this point, it becomes more credible that the underlying driving force is his dire need to demonstrate his worth. This is the only viable way for him to be accepted and become part

of a larger reality (the army and the Arab people), while also giving himself the courage he craves. His personal translation of frustration and need into intensity, as well as his passion for the cause, helps convey his tragic conception of life: only through extreme effort will he be well-loved and accepted.

Subsequent moments affirm this first passage as Lawrence goes on to lead the Arab people, acting as a leader who goes to great lengths, caring for his men more than himself while displaying sensitivity and humanity.

The extreme effort is well symbolized in the Nefud desert crossing—which, contrary to the commonly sandy image, is dark and rocky—putting Lawrence and the rest of the army to the test. But Lawrence doesn’t stop (nor does he want to!). The goal he has set for himself is far more important, and what’s at stake, however unconscious, has major significance.

It is during this first part of the journey that Lawrence, after an extreme effort, realizes that a man from his company has been left behind. As absurd as it may seem, Lawrence has no doubt that the only course of action is to get back on his horse and return in search of the missing man. His teammates try to dissuade him from such a risky venture, and their attempt takes the form of the words spoken by his friend: “It is written.”

These words signify the inevitability of fate but also hint at the doubt that the dangerous act will lead to success. But Lawrence points to his head and responds, “I’ll see Aqaba! It’s written here!” “Nothing is written.” In this, he asserts his willpower and reclaims control over everything. This leads him to return to the rocky desert, recover the lost man, and triumphantly return to the camp. After declaring once more that nothing is written, he collapses from exhaustion after devouring himself in effort and stubbornness.

This framework would almost seem to justify Lawrence’s conduct were it not for the fact that the same man he saved will later perish by his own hand for committing an illegal act under the rules between the Arab tribes. His presumption of being able to guide and control events finds its most manifest expression here. Though his action remains heroic, it leads to the acclaim of the army and recognition of his leadership, confirmed by the new clothes he receives—a shiny white dress, a symbol of his rebirth. It is what he wants, what he aspires to: to be recognized publicly, externally, for his inner qualities. Soon after, the very origin of this need is revealed in a confession: Lawrence admits his illegitimate origin. He is the son of a nobleman and a woman who was not his wife, a condition that deprived him of any right to a position or recognition, as if he had no right to be or felt guilty for his birth.

Lawrence stands out, always in search of his own originality, for the strategies he proposes for the war against a den, suggesting the creation of mobile units to conquer Damascus, which can attack quickly in the desert.

After a brief solitary retreat in the desert, Lawrence experiences a flash of genius: Aqaba must be taken. The stone thrown by a child that hits him from behind triggers this intuition. But the only way to implement such a brilliant and dangerous strategy is to surprise the target from behind by crossing the Nefud desert. It is a feat on the brink of possibility, given the few men at his disposal, and at the same time, a practical example of extreme tenacity and effort that he doesn’t spare. However, this does not discourage Lawrence. On the contrary, always with a visionary and idealistic outlook, he hopes to expand his army by recruiting mercenaries and bandits from the region.

Once again, it becomes apparent that, though a background theme, Lawrence’s action often aims to reunite disconnected parts. The ideal he endorses is to unite the Arab tribes under one kingdom, even including the most barbaric but equally brave elements. This tension seems to imply an internal action directed at the same goal: bringing together disconnected parts of himself to find a new harmony, without excluding any aspect—even the untamed, rebellious, warlike, and destructive parts. This may be his true heroic journey: claiming the right to find himself. In this internal journey, the external counterpart is his total commitment to the Arab cause and loyalty to the British army. He desires to be the one to succeed in the reunifying enterprise.

The crossing of Nefud, despite the enormous difficulties, turns out to be a success and earns Lawrence a place of honor among his comrades. However, to bring news of the conquest of Aqaba to the British command in Cairo, Lawrence must cross a new desert—the Sinai. But it is during this trip that an important event occurs, one that will leave an indelible mark on him: one of the young servants, who had immediately earned his trust and admiration, loses his life after sinking into quicksand. This new desert seems again to serve as the backdrop, the evidence, and the inner world of the protagonist. He loses his young friend—or perhaps a part of himself: the youthful illusion, the totalizing and uncritical adherence to self-referential egotism, or the difficulty of truly seeing what is there. It is no coincidence that the next scene reveals the British command’s underlying plots and the decision for Arabia to become a British protectorate. But Lawrence remains driven by his heroic mission, and such is the fascination he exudes that he attracts the attention of the press, which once again, like others, uses the image of the romantic man leading the Arab revolution to build a character.

On the other hand, Lawrence can no longer resist the allure of being the man who successfully united the Arab tribes around him in the ideal of reunification. But once again, he encounters a very different reality: abandoned by the retreating tribes, and with only a few men, he has no choice but to call on the inhabitants of the new city he intends to conquer to rise up. Here, he is captured and interrogated, during which the commander makes an approach that, though not explicitly stated, seems to be a sexual advance.

Although Lawrence attempts to resist, he is tortured and becomes the victim of sexual violence. Released overnight and taken in by his lifelong friend, he is now a broken and humiliated man. It is difficult to emphasize this passage: the commander’s attraction seems to stem from Lawrence’s vaguely feminine features—his moon-white body and smooth contours—which make him an object of attention for the military man’s manic tendencies.

Lawrence’s femininity—the delicate, vulnerable, and sweet nature he has always tried to conceal behind glorious and dangerous military feats—is the very same that gets unmasked, used, violated, and humiliated. Perhaps this reveals how his entire life has been characterized by an attempt to cover his deepest nature, a vulnerability that places him at the mercy of others, as seen in this passage, confirming the danger of revealing one’s true self.

It is here that we witness a change in direction for Lawrence and his behavior. The violence he has endured transforms him. His new mission, upon arriving in Damascus with a new cohort of men—mostly predators and murderers—becomes one of carnage, bringing out a destructive rage and sadistic pleasure in attacking the enemy. It is during this phase that Lawrence becomes aware of a part of himself he had never known and which scares him. He confesses that he has felt pleasure in killing.

It is internal sadism—self-destruction—that changes direction, now directed at the enemies of war in a kind of self-vindication, revenge, and an explosion of rage long hidden behind doubt and obstinate tenacity.

But Lawrence's journey, as an emblematic symbol of a counterdependent character, cannot be interpreted solely as the unequivocal expression of a self-devouring and masochistic nature. Instead, it represents an inner journey, a path towards the desertification of the soul— a confrontation with every aspect of the self, a struggle that ultimately culminates in the realization of the futility of the fight itself.