Psychological - Literary Analysis of "Yo el Supremo" by Augusto Roa Bastos

“I, the Supreme” reflects historically on the dictatorship of Dr. José Gaspar Rodríguez de Francia (The Supreme), who ruled Paraguay from 1816 to 1840. Written by Augusto Roa Bastos while in exile, it constitutes one of the most powerful critiques ever produced regarding authoritarianism.

One of the novel’s innovative aspects is its profound reflection on writing itself. In this sense, it rejects writing, considering it an inefficient system, yet at the same time embraces that limitation and produces a critique of the literary system of its time.

Before anything else, however, some structural elements should be noted: the novel is composed of various rhetorical forms. I will only mention a few. First, there are the pamphlets, parodies of bureaucratic state style; secondly, the notes of Policarpo Patiño, the Supreme's scribe; thirdly, The Private Notebook, where the Supreme recorded information intended for himself; fourthly, The Perpetual Circular, a legal document containing the Supreme’s orders for state officials; and finally, the footnotes provided by the Compiler. Likewise, the work rests upon a system of direct and indirect citation and a complex intertextuality.

Thus, the structure and writing of the novel reveal a sophisticated narrative consciousness. However, the issue of writing is not limited to matters of dispositio, elocutio, and imitatio, but also extends into the conceptual realm. In this context, the Supreme develops a theory of writing, which is part of his political project and sustains his absolute power.

The discourse the Supreme holds against writing, relegating it to a secondary level within culture, serves a dual purpose: on one hand, rejecting writing becomes the foundation of his absolute power, since it reinforces the idea that the Supreme is the only subject capable of speaking and exercising speech and writing; on the other hand, this discourse is seen as necessary from the perspective of resisting criollismo in order to affirm Paraguayan sovereignty and reclaim Guaraní cultures.

His rejection of writing is so strong that it leads the Supreme to produce a discourse even opposed to human language itself. Hence his preference for animal communication. Yet the novel has a contrary ending. There, writing is presented as a fatality that culminates in the disintegration of the Supreme-subject and the text itself, which literally ends up being devoured by insects.

With this, writing disappears even at the material level. At another level, this ending reveals the impossibility of the Supreme’s discourse against writing: on one hand, his own writing has been the product of such faithful copying that it calls into question the authority of the Supreme; on the other, the idea that to write someone’s history one must necessarily become that person is applied to the Supreme himself: Sultan, his dog, ultimately becomes a double of the Supreme, thus calling his uniqueness into question. At that moment, the Supreme’s authority vanishes, and he literally turns into a larva condemned to devour his own writings.

The rejection of writing manifests concretely in a fierce critique directed at Policarpo Patiño, the Supreme’s writer. This criticism extends to writers in general, specifically historians and travelers of the time. They are discredited both for their ignorance and hypocrisy, and for plagiarism. The Supreme calls them “ignorant, scribes, liars, Pharisees, and fools—writers who turn words of authority into lies” (Roa Bastos).

In this sense, the Supreme expresses his desire that laws should forbid writing altogether and establishes censorship as the foundation of his tyranny: “There ought to be laws in all countries… against feathered scribblers of every kind. Corrupters of corruption. Idlers. Misguided. Rogues, ruffians of the written word. Thus we would eradicate the worst poison suffered by nations” (Roa Bastos).

Dictation is defined as an act of power whose purpose is to be "heard, listened to," and "obeyed." This definition is so broad that even when the Supreme does not speak, he is still exerting command: “His silence is a command,” it is stated. According to Patiño, all of this implies “that in the Supreme there are at least two. The Self can split into a third, active entity that properly judges our responsibility regarding the act we must decide upon” (Roa Bastos).

In other words, the Supreme splits himself to exercise power in the form of justice and as a moral reference. Furthermore, this scene enacts the relationship of domination between the Supreme and Patiño, his servant: there, the dictator presents himself as a ventriloquist, someone who modifies his voice so that it seems to come from elsewhere, and as an imitator. That is why he says of himself that “I was a good ventriloquist” (Roa Bastos).

Not only is the Supreme the only one capable of perceiving things in their historical depth; he is also the only one able to write about them. Thus, when he teaches Patiño how to write, he also expresses his conception of writing. Essentially, it is an act through which “oneself” is transferred into the materiality of the written.

But writing is also an act of power in which the Supreme presents himself as the hand guiding the hands of writers. With his parodic rhetoric, the dictator portrays writing as a sexual act in which ink and paper fuse to form a “beast with two backs”:

“…I will guide your hand as if I were writing myself… Do you feel the weight? Yes, Excellency! Press harder. I press your hand… Pressure fuses our hands… Release all the weight of your being onto the tip of the pen… Writing is tearing the word away from oneself. Loading that word, as it detaches from you, with everything about you until it becomes something else’s… Writing doesn’t mean converting reality into words but making the word real. Unreality exists only in the misuse of the word, in the misuse of writing… Penetrate deeply… A passionate process. It leads to a complete fusion of ink and paper… Male/female. Together they form the beast with two backs…” (Roa Bastos)

This is representation. This is literature. Representation of writing as representation and a strong allegory of Power exercised through possession of knowledge.

Writing becomes the ominous end of the Supreme, who ends up becoming a parody of himself, the object of cruelty inflicted by his own power, hanged by the very rope he spun: “Enthroned within the machinery of Absolute Power, the Supreme Person builds her own scaffold. She is hanged with the rope her hands spun. Deus ex machina. Farce. Parody. The Supreme-Jester’s pipirijaina.” (Roa Bastos).

Yet this ending also implies a sort of poetic justice exercised upon the Supreme. Sultan predicts that the Supreme will descend into the dungeons where countless prisoners languish. There, stripped of all authority, he will enter emptiness, deep darkness, and pestilence: precisely, the bodily fluids of his enemies will end up covering his body, crushing him: “The sweat of these wretches, their feces, their urine, dripping from hammock to hammock, will drool over you, raining drops, drops of sepulchral slime. They will crush you downward, more and more” (Roa Bastos).

Afterward, insects will devour his aphasic body, and he himself will become a kind of rodent finishing off “the egg of the Supreme” and the very text itself (Roa Bastos).

Throughout the work, constant references appear to esoteric and supernatural themes, including mentions of the Bezoar, a stone believed to have healing and metaphysical properties. We cannot ignore the psychological component behind these elements, which evidences signs of bipolar disorder in the Supreme’s frequent digressions, taking the form of a parapsychological discourse allowing him to evade reality and his self-imposed solitude.

In the novel, the egg refers to the origin of writing. For the Supreme, the point is the origin of writing. He calls it the “Seed of new-eggs.” From this geometric unit emerge angular and circular forms. Geometrically and rhetorically, what is defined here is the “perpetual circular” as a metaphor for writing: “Nature coiled in a perpetual spiral. Wheels that never stop. Axes that never break. So too with writing. Symmetrical negation of nature” (Roa Bastos).

Politically as well, the egg is the product of the first revolutionaries and is called “the revolutionary egg,” but it is also a theory of the soul held by certain Paraguayan natives. In this way, we can establish a link between textual connectivity—the power exercised as a writer and literate figure in a nation of illiterates—and Foucault’s theory regarding the exercise of power and its relation to truth.

“What matters, I believe, is that truth is not outside power or without power (It is not despite a myth from which we must choose history and function, the reward of free spirits, the child of long societies, the privilege of those who have managed to liberate themselves). Truth belongs to this world; it is produced through multiple coercions. And it operates through regulated effects of power. Each society has its regime of truth, its 'General Politics' of truth; that is, the types of discourses it accepts and functions as true or false, the ways in which they are sanctioned; the techniques and procedures valued for obtaining truth; the status of those responsible for declaring what functions as true...” (Foucault)

“Truth is directly linked to power, as demonstrated throughout history (since experience shows us that those who hold power are those who control truth...). And that is why we always associate truth with power, seeing power as a repressive element in our lives. Every society has its 'truth,' which it modifies according to its convenience or needs” (Foucault)

This is how Foucault describes, in his “Dialogue on Power,” the basic idea of his structuring of the topic—the description between power and truth. Thus, the Supreme possesses truth in and of himself and wields it like a mace of power over his peers and subjects, since he is the one who interprets the signs, both written and oral.

Born during the Latin American Boom of the mid-1960s (published in 1974), this work has become a true masterpiece analyzing relations of power, offering a clear-eyed portrayal of the omnipotent dictator and reflecting the historical, political, and sociological realities of one of the Latin American nations that has suffered the most under long-entrenched rulers, whether Solano López or Stroessner. The country endured bloody wars costing more than half its population and substantial portions of its territory, particularly during the Chaco War (1932–1935).

Yet in this study, we aim to examine the dictator, his inner motivations, his golden display of command and will, from a psychological pragmatic approach, in order to gain insight into the true depth of the work.

What makes Yo el Supremo remarkable is the masterful penetration into the psyche of the character, skillfully expressed in his long soliloquies and notebook entries. The Supreme acts as an omniscient narrator, describing what Adler posits as a theory concerning the existence of a dynamic integral force, known as the “aggressive drive,” which already manifests in the newborn’s first cry and in children’s motor behaviors (hitting, wrestling, biting...). All of these reveal the aggressive impulse.

Later, over time, this impulse may channel into specific activities such as sports, competition, war, the thirst for dominance, social struggles, religious conflicts, etc. If the impulse turns inward, it grants the individual traits of humility, submission, subordination, masochism—traits joined by qualities such as educability, trust in authority, susceptibility to hypnosis and suggestion, and ultimately suicide.

Freud initially rejected Adler’s idea. Later, he accepted the existence of this instinct, which he called the death or destructive instinct. This is evident right from the beginning of the work, when the dictator demands that once he dies, all of his followers must die with him.

Historically, it is proven that Dr. Gaspar Rodríguez de Francia was among the most enlightened figures of his time. However, this enlightened despotism degenerated into a bloody hunger for power and a prolonged stay in office. According to Adler, the motivations behind his hegemony could lie in the feeling of inferiority that might have stemmed from an altered childhood development—a motivation similarly observed in children suffering physical deficiencies or functional impairments.

This sentiment also occurred in excessively pampered children. According to Adler, living in a kind of symbiosis with the mother, constantly attached to her, these children set for themselves a goal of overcoming, aiming to transform their current situation into a permanent one. Any change terrifies them. Anyone who isn’t the mother is considered an enemy.

As adults, these children are unprepared to face problems related to marriage, work, family, etc. This situation was also observed, according to Adler, in unwanted or illegitimate children. These individuals react hostilely and use force when they feel superior to their opponent, sometimes abusing weaker beings or animals. Many become criminals or neurotics.

Therapy should consist of stimulating and strengthening the “good will” or “community feeling” against the “will to power”—Gemeinschaftsgefühl against Geltungstrieb. (in his book Der Sinn des Lebens [1932], where he states that man finds health and balance only through love for others, he responds to Freud’s Das Unbehagen in der Kultur , in which Freud considers the evangelical commandment to love one’s neighbor as impossible and absurd.)

Adler, therefore, took into account the degree to which a person was concerned with their work, loved their neighbors, and fulfilled social obligations fully. Roa Bastos clearly exposes in his work this relationship of power, this endless struggle where the exercise of will over others determines satisfactions rooted in conscious impulsivity.

The “Good Will” Adler refers to—as the paternalistic sense of a head of state toward his subjects—is completely absent in the protagonist of the work, who displays markedly narcissistic traits and limitless egotism. The will to power is expressed in an aphorism placed by the author in the mouth of Rodríguez de Francia: “I knew that to make power is to be powerful.”

During my reading of the work, I found connections between this desire for power and Adler’s psychological discourse, as well as with Foucault’s theme of truth. The Supreme directs the fate of his nation of illiterate citizens with countless decrees, recommendations, and directives that no one is capable of reading.

The Supreme is irreplaceable: “I did not choose myself. I was chosen by the majority of our fellow citizens. I myself could not choose myself. Could anyone replace me in death? Just as no one could replace me in life. Even if I had a son, he could neither replace nor inherit me. My dynasty begins and ends in me, in ME-THE. The sovereignty and power with which we are invested will return to the people to whom they belong eternally” (Roa Bastos). In this passage, the terrible complex of superiority and exaggerated narcissism displayed by the character becomes evident.

One of the most fascinating figures in the novel is the scribe, who gives shape to the Supreme’s thoughts, ordering, correcting, and reinterpreting them. This scribe is not merely a secretary or historian; he is an alter ego, a double that allows the dictator to contemplate his image from the outside, like in a distorted mirror. Psychologically, the scribe represents that part of the self seeking to integrate unconscious content, attempting to give meaning to the senselessness of power.

Writing in Yo el Supremo acquires both a therapeutic and magical function. The Supreme writes to remember, justify, punish, and immortalize himself. But he also writes to exorcise his internal demons, to dominate the chaos of his thoughts. In this sense, the novel becomes an intimate diary of the madness of power, where each page is a scream cast into the void of history.

Roa Bastos uses the metaphor of the book as both a political and a psychological body. Thus, the text appears as a living organism, made up of fragments, letters, official documents, and falsified memories. Like the spirit of the Supreme, the text is fragmented, schizophrenic, searching for an identity it never manages to consolidate.

In the search for this identity aligns with the theory of an unhappy childhood explaining the insatiable hunger for power in the Supreme. What strikes me about the personality of the Supreme described by Roa Bastos are certain intense feelings of frustration and unresolved emotional conflicts, possibly stemming from an unhappy childhood of the character (Dr. Francia), who lacked a clear personal or familial identity. In Roa Bastos’ book, we see a key basic conflict, a binary opposition of values: love and forgiveness vs. hatred and bitterness. This is the anchor linking the character’s neurosis to Adler’s theory.

In Yo el Supremo , the Supreme Dictator appears from the first page with a strong persecution complex. He spends his entire life doubting even his own shadow. Many people who could have helped build the nation were exterminated due to the whims of this character.

He is often shown alone, very alone, even sullen. Without friends. His love is directed toward the Nation, never toward individuals. The exception is his loyal dog. Sometimes he goes through fits of bad temper, driving him out of his mind. Any interference with his plans enrages him. He refused to forgive even his godfather Isasi or his loyal servant, the black Pilar, both of whom were executed.

Dr. Francia is portrayed as an enigmatic, solitary, and undoubtedly authoritarian character—sometimes extremely serious, other times remarkably humorous and sarcastic. Among his positive traits are patriotism, defense of national sovereignty, austerity in state affairs, and a deep affection for peasants and indigenous people, the true workers and defenders of national identity, embodying an archetypal figure of totalitarian power. But rather than presenting him as a caricatured tyrant, Roa Bastos strips him bare with a poetic and cruel gaze, revealing the fragile man beneath the iron mask of power. This duality between omnipotence and impotence constitutes one of the central axes of the psychological analysis of the character.

Freud argued that power can be seen as a sublimation of aggressive and narcissistic impulses from the id. In the case of the Supreme, these impulses are exacerbated by loneliness, fear of betrayal, and dread of death. His paranoia is not only political but deeply psychological. He feels surrounded by real and imaginary enemies, and this constant vigilance turns him into a prisoner of his own control system.

The voice of the Supreme, when appearing directly in the first person, is filled with contradictions. It oscillates between absolute arrogance and existential anguish, between the desire to be loved and the perverse pleasure of being feared. He declares, “I am the State,” but also confesses, “I am a walking corpse.” These phrases are like cracks in the edifice of power, fissures through which the truth leaks: behind the master lies a frightened servant.

He is also portrayed as a great promoter of national music. He had brilliant ideas such as an advanced educational system for his time. An interesting detail is his interest in creating the Reformed Patriotic Catechism, adapted to the national language and the characteristics of his people. He is seen as an intellectual, scholarly, and somewhat statesmanlike figure.

He showed a desire to preserve and develop the extraordinary riches of Paraguay of his era through his plans and projects. This bipolarity in his goals—this duality between shameless, absolute, and omnipotent power and the power that ennobles, builds, and expresses love for the people and their well-being—will remain constant throughout the work.

Perhaps all of this is reflected in his orality—in his hatred of written language in favor of spoken language—as a means of appeasing his deepest pulsions… or perhaps the Supreme’s linguistic ideas constitute the basis of an authoritarian discourse whose goal is the appropriation of speech and writing from all his servants, thereby perpetuating himself in power indefinitely.

Death is a thread running through the entire novel. Not only as a physical presence—the death of enemies, the death of ideals, the death of the dictator’s body—but also as a deep-seated drive beating beneath the surface of power. The Supreme seems to be in constant struggle against death—not just as a biological phenomenon, but as the limit of absolute control.

Freud, in Beyond the Pleasure Principle , introduces the idea of the death drive (Thanatos ) as a force tending toward repetition, toward returning to an inorganic state. In the case of the Supreme, this drive manifests in his desire to perpetuate his will beyond life, in his need to leave a legacy, to be remembered—even if with hatred.

His final speech, delivered before imminent death, is not a repentance, but a final affirmation of himself. Even in agony, he continues pretending to be the master of destiny. Yet the text shows us that his death is not only a physical event, but the definitive collapse of the fictional self he has built over the years. Upon dying, the Supreme leaves a void no successor can fill, because his true heir is the word itself, the text that continues to speak for him.

The material expression of that power is his policies of censorship and imprisonment of enemies. Yet his rejection of writing is not total: deep down, he believes that behind orality lies a written order. What he does with orality is manipulate and adapt it to his political interests. Appropriation goes even further when he seeks to speak for all of nature. However, this pretension receives a punishment seemingly explained by the soul theories of the “forest men.”

According to this logic, one may wonder whether the Supreme lost his soul for daring to usurp nature’s place in the cosmological system of ancient Paraguayans, and in doing so, lost all sense of self and homeland in his final moments.

The Supreme is not a monster, but a human being trapped in a web of drives, fears, and ambitions that ultimately destroy him. Yet paradoxically, they elevate him to the category of symbol—a symbol of the human condition facing the abyss of power and death.

In the end, the reader understands that the Supreme does not die completely. He lives on in every authoritarian regime, in every abuse of power, in every silencing of free speech. I, the Supreme is not merely a book—it is a mirror, a cry, and a warning.

It was a delirium of grandeur in extremis, beautifully captured by the refined pen of Roa Bastos.

Bibliography

ADLER Alfred; Práctica y teoría de la psicología del individuo / Introduction, supervision, notes, appendix and bibliography by Jaime Bernstein -- Buenos Aires: Editorial Paidós, 1958. 2nd edition.

ADLER, Alfred; Los sentimientos de inferioridad (translated by F. Oliver Brachfeld) -- Buenos Aires: Siglo Veinte, 1959

BOULDING, Kenneth E., Las tres caras del poder , Barcelona, Spain, Paidós Editores, 1993.

FOUCAULT, Michel, Un diálogo sobre el poder y otras conversaciones , Madrid, Spain, Alianza Editores, 1988.

FOUCAULT, Michel, Microfísica del poder , Madrid, Spain, La Piqueta Editores, 1992

ROA BASTOS, Augusto; Yo el Supremo , Colección Homenaje. Editorial El Lector, Asunción, Paraguay, 2003