Osama bin Laden's mother was about 15 at the time of his birth. Nicknamed "The Slave" inside the family, she was soon discarded and sent off to be married to a middle manager in the bin Laden construction firm.

Osama revered the father he rarely got to see and adored his mother. As a teenager, he "would lie at her feet and caress her," a family friend told Steve Coll, for his definitive biography The Bin Ladens: An Arabian Family in the American Century.

Like many people who go on to alter history, for good and evil, bin Laden lost his father when he was about 9. The family patriarch was killed in a plane crash caused by an American pilot in the Saudi province of Asir. (Five of the Sept. 11 hijackers would come from that province. His brother was later killed in a plane crash on American soil.)

Osama was an extremely shy child, Coll writes. He was an outsider in his new family but also the golden goose. His allowance and inheritance was the source of his family's wealth.

He lived a suburban existence and was sent to an elite school, wearing a blue blazer and being taught by European teachers. He was a mediocre student but religiously devout. He made it to university, but didn't last long. He married his first cousin when she was 14 and went into the family business.

I repeat these personal facts because we have a tendency to see history as driven by deep historical forces. And sometimes it is. But sometimes it is driven by completely inexplicable individuals, who combine qualities you would think could never go together, who lead in ways that violate every rule of leadership, who are able to perpetrate enormous evils even though they themselves seem completely pathetic. Analysts spend their lives trying to anticipate future threats. But nobody could have possibly anticipated bin Laden's life and the giant effect it would have. The whole episode makes you despair about making predictions.

As a family man, bin Laden was interested in sex, cars and work but was otherwise devout. He did permit photography in his presence. He banned Sesame Street, Tabasco sauce and straws from his home. He covered his eyes if an unveiled woman entered the room.

According to Coll, this sort of devoutness, while not everybody's cup of tea, was utterly orthodox in his society. He was not a rebel as a young man.

After the Soviets invaded Afghanistan, he organized jihadi tourism: helping young, idealistic Arab fighters who wanted to spend some time fighting the invaders. He was not a fighter himself, more of a courier and organizer, though after he survived one Soviet bombardment, he began to fashion a self-glorifying mythology.

He was still painfully shy but returned with an enormous sense of entitlement. In 1990, he wanted to run the Saudi response to the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait. He also thought he should run the family business. After he was shot down for both roles, the radicalism grew.

We think of terrorism leaders as hard and intimidating. Bin Laden was gentle and soft, with a flaccid handshake. Yet his soldiers have told researchers such as Peter Bergen, the author of The Longest War, that meeting him was a deeply spiritual experience.

We think of terrorists as trying to build cells and organizations, but bin Laden created an anti-organization — an open-source set of networks with some top-down control but much decentralization and a willingness to embrace all recruits, regardless of race, sect or nationality.

We think of war fighters as using violence to seize property and power, but bin Laden seemed to regard murder as a subdivision of brand management. It was a way to inspire the fundraising networks, dominate the news and manipulate meaning.

In short, Osama bin Laden seemed to live in an ethereal, postmodern world of symbols and signifiers and also a cruel murderous world of rage and humiliation. Even the most brilliant intelligence analyst could not anticipate such an odd premodern and postglobalized creature, or could imagine that such a creature would gain such power.

I just wish there were a democratic bin Laden, that amid all the Arab hunger for dignity and freedom there was another inexplicable person with the ability to frame narratives and propel action — for good, not evil.

So far, there doesn't seem to be, which is tragic because individuals matter.

Brooks is a columnist for The New York Times.