January 23, 2025
By Carvalho Filho
Once, a friend mentioned someone named Stirner and showed interest in him and other proto-anarchists. At the time, interested in what I understood as anarchism, I did a quick search on Stirner. "What do you mean, egoist anarchism?!" It made no sense to me. With my limitations, I lost interest. To me, egoism was a human flaw, conditioned by the capitalist mode of production and, above all, something associated with the bourgeoisie. I believed that once capitalism was overcome, human egoism would disappear. As a communist, I thought I should overcome my egoism and aspire to embody a Christ-like ideal. Of course, as a Bolshevik, my goal was to be an acclaimed dictator, a great leader of a New Rome.
However, the more Stirner appeared in my readings—whether through Marx or Guérin—the more curious I became about his ideas, especially because of the latter. I decided to download The Ego and Its Own, already planning to criticize it. But as I read and reflected, even disagreeing on many points, I was struck by some of his lines. I saw in Stirner thoughts I had already formulated but had suppressed for considering them "wrong." I thought I was alone in certain positions and dismissed them as immature. I wanted to solve the problem of collectives becoming authoritarian, but all the solutions I found seemed idealistic to me.
For this reason, I took the initiative to write a text summarizing my reflections, seeking self-assertion and a break from communism—especially the self-management movement, to which I contributed little theoretically, being more of a repeater. It was a short work, with artificial writing like other pieces I had done, and it found few spaces for publication. But that was not enough! The dogmatic tone of the text made me feel the need to deepen the concepts, something that would compromise the original material if I revised it constantly.
Thus, I present this development. I am open to discussing the proposed theses, emphasizing the foundation of my break: the authoritarianism of the collective.
I do not intend to revive the idealistic exaltation of individuality, though I do not dismiss it. Instead, I propose a materialist analysis of what we understand by ego and social. I affirm, from the outset, that egoism is an intrinsic characteristic of our nature. However, this egoism should not be confused with arrogance, insensitivity, or greed. By "egoists," I refer to the universal tendency to seek to fulfill our own needs and interests. Even in seemingly altruistic acts, such as sacrificing oneself for another, it is the ego that acts, as the individual finds satisfaction, meaning, or purpose in that gesture.
We are egoists because our perception and existence are limited by the body and mind. Reality is only accessible to us through direct experience, filtered through corporeality—the materiality of being organisms. These limits are insurmountable and completely shape the individual. Thus, our view of the world and others is determined by contact with the material bases and relationships that define our existence.
The pursuit of personal satisfaction is an innate characteristic of living beings, manifested in actions directed toward themselves. Before any social or moral construction, the living being acts in the interest of its own preservation. In all circumstances, even the most adverse, egoism guides our choices and actions. Life is the exclusive property of the individual. Any attempt to subject another person to external interests is exploitative and, therefore, authoritarian. Authority is always a form of exploitation, as those who exercise control do so to serve their own interests.
Even when someone submits to authority, whether voluntarily or under duress, this does not negate their egoism. On the contrary, it is a strategic calculation to ensure the individual's survival and comfort. Submitting to a hierarchy, following directives, or accepting impositions are indications of an adaptation influenced by circumstances.
For instance, if I produce something useful, I do not do so for the benefit of society, but for my own sustenance. However, if I choose to produce in association with others, it is because I see this act as a means to meet my needs while contributing to others' needs. The desire for communion or association arises from an individual need, and the collective is formed as the convergence of multiple egos that, at a given moment, find common interests. The State serves the common interest of the bourgeoisie; the council, that of the workers; gangs, that of the outlaws.
To critically understand the collective as a social structure, it is essential to distance ourselves from any romanticized view of it. By its practice, the collective fulfills two primary functions: organizing society and exerting a certain degree of coercion over its members. In other words, it seeks to create a supposed social unity but does so by reducing the diversity of individual wills to a uniformity necessary to maintain the dominant mode of production—be it communal, feudal, state capitalist, or private capitalist.
When related to the entirety of society, the collective is an authority imposed on us from birth. Children are under the authority of their guardians, who, in turn, are subjected to the laws established by the prevailing mode of production. However, the ultimate authority encompassing all others is that of nature itself, against which the earliest collectives struggled. In general terms, the fight against authority is a fight for survival.
Collectivism, however, presents itself primarily as an abstraction—a set of ideological discourses serving specific interests. It is the naive glorification of the collective, which, for its adherents, can be adjusted but never abandoned. Collectivism grants moral authority to the social consensus that supports it, with its main function being the subordination of the individual to the whole, shaping their will and actions according to the needs of specific groups.
To illustrate this, consider the concept of money. Even when it is not physically present, money functions as a measure of value in our society. Similarly, the collective exists as a functional representation: its effectiveness lies in its ability to align individual wills with a common standard. This standard is usually defined by those who control the means of production and the bureaucratic institutions, such as the State, corporations, unions, and political parties. Behind various justifications, the collective seeks to erase differences and conflicts between individual interests, catering to the demands of centralized control.
Let us examine institutionalized collectivism in parties, unions, or social movements: it operates as a tool of bureaucratic administration where autonomous and dissenting expressions are rejected in favor of systemic efficiency. The affiliate becomes replaceable, and their uniqueness is suppressed to ensure the continuity of the collective apparatus. As such, in these institutions, the interests represented are not those of their members but rather those of their leaders, secretaries, and presidents, who elevate themselves above the rest.
When these institutions begin to rely on the active contributions of their participants, the value generated is appropriated by the bureaucracy, which transforms the collective into an enterprise and its administrators into capitalists, structuring the organization to favor private accumulation. Any structure that seeks to align multiple individual wills in a single direction tends to gravitate toward this end.
In any social context, there exists a division between a category that produces and another that appropriates what is produced. These are called social classes, which, by their very nature, are inevitably antagonistic. Members of the appropriating class develop mechanisms to maintain and intensify exploitation as a means to produce and reproduce their own conditions of life, just as the members of the producing class struggle to survive.
A certain rebellious organization may arise spontaneously, without leaders. Within it, practical figures stand out for their skills and actions, while theoretical figures emerge as sources of guidance for others. At this stage, the organization has not lost its autonomous character. Now, this organization begins to plan a revolutionary act, and for that, a degree of coordinated action may be necessary. Yet, it still remains autonomous!
However, as the organization plans larger-scale actions, such as a revolution, the need for coordination and unity increases. Members may choose direct democracy to decide collectively. Within any social organization, conflicting interests are inevitable. When majority decisions prevail, the minority members are, in a sense, compelled to follow the majority's will to remain within the group. Over time, the practical and theoretical leaders accumulate effective power, consolidating their positions as the leadership. Once power is held by some over others, interests become antagonistic. The organization then tends to institutionalize itself, stagnating and shifting toward the continuous exploitation of its members by the bureaucratic class.
Once institutionalized, the organization ceases to be a revolutionary force and begins reproducing the interests of the state bureaucracy. This bureaucracy, in turn, perpetuates the interests of the dominant classes, particularly the bourgeoisie. The organized collective thus becomes an extension of the state apparatus, replicating on a smaller scale the same tools of class oppression.
When such an organization expands and takes control of the monopoly on force on a regional or national scale, its leaders transform into rulers. The other members remain as subordinates. This is not about traditional democratic mechanisms, such as formal elections within the state, where limited party disputes create an illusion of popular participation. The issue here is the direct seizure of the state apparatus. An example of this is the October Revolution of 1917, when the Bolsheviks took power in Russia, ultimately leading to the establishment of the Soviet Union.
In this process, the bureaucracy of the revolutionary collective merges with the state bureaucracy. The state centralizes the means of production, which were previously owned privately, nationalizing them under the party's management. Surplus value—the product of labor exceeding its necessary cost—is no longer appropriated by the traditional bourgeoisie but by the state bourgeoisie. Thus, private capitalism is replaced by state capitalism.
It was claimed that these states would eventually wither away, yet they not only persisted but reproduced their own existence. Otherwise, we would not be forced to sing their anthems, revere their flags, or submit to their doctrinal, punitive, and corrective institutions. Did they expect the awareness of social contradictions—the very awareness that supposedly drives revolutions—to flourish more rapidly through the extermination of those who embody it? If history were a teleological process, then emancipation would come from passivity. It seems that once we become conscious of capitalism's contradictions, we are exiled from the class struggle itself.
For this reason, I do not seek a universal purpose. Relations of production and forms of social organization emerge, develop, and disappear as material conditions change. Any attempt to unify us around a common goal is, in truth, the imposition of a particular interest as a universal norm. Should we eliminate those who oppose communism when it is on the rise? Or should some "superman," legitimized by supposed scientific superiority, educate and discipline the masses for the common good?
Even in historical experiments like the Paris Commune of 1871, often exalted as a model of social self-management, the "common good" came at the cost of lives. A self-government, no matter how idealized, is still a government. If this is the objective of communists, then anarchists are farther from them than commonly thought. In the Commune, not only were state enforcers executed, but also dissidents, such as the anarchist Gustave Chaudey.
Violence, especially that which kills, is inherently authoritarian, as it violates the only legitimate authority: that of one's own body. However, I recognize and support violence against those who oppress us—bosses, police officers, bureaucrats. This is liberating violence, which does not seek to subjugate but to reclaim our autonomy. I refuse to be commanded, surveilled, coerced, searched, insulted, interrogated, imprisoned, judged, or sentenced.
If I commit a robbery, I use violence to expropriate something that, at that moment, has use value for another person, depriving them of that good. This act is an exercise of coercion, an imposition of my will over another's. Even if my circumstances may justify the action, it inevitably carries an authoritarian character, as it establishes a temporary hierarchy where my urgency outweighs their possession. On the other hand, when I steal something that is not, at that moment, being used or fulfilling a value function for someone else, I appropriate matter that, in essence, belongs to no one. In this case, the action ceases to be coercive, as there is no direct conflict of interests. The stolen object was inert, serving no immediate role in satisfying another individual's needs or desires.
Even friendships, collegial relationships, and family can be considered forms of collectives, as can romantic relationships—whether monogamous, polygamous, or agamous. In all these bonds, exchanges of interests involve varying degrees of authority. These exchanges, though permeated by tensions, remain equitable as long as they satisfy all parties, whether by desire, convenience, or survival necessity. However, there are moments when one individual demands more, and another submits; in others, all involved maintain relative autonomy.
There is no incompatibility between seeking one's own satisfaction and coexisting with others, but this coexistence inevitably carries insoluble conflicts. I do not demonize associations; on the contrary, let us unite to vandalize the streets and occupy spaces! As long as, of course, these alliances are free from impositions, temporary, and dissolve before spontaneity is lost to bureaucratization and organizational control.
Regardless of the dominant mode of production, emancipation is satisfied within the individual. There is no redeeming project that surpasses this sphere. The rupture lies in the continuous rejection of the legal and social consensuses that govern us, without replacing them with new governmental regimes. No external force can emancipate me, just as no institution can represent me. The burden of freedom is personal and non-transferable; it is neither a gift from the state nor an agreement with the collective. Proudhon, despite the contradictions of his early anarchism, intuited this almost two centuries ago.
Let us not resign ourselves to the promise of a future anarchy, like a believer clings to the illusion of paradise, while remaining subjugated in the present. Anarchy, as I understand it, is the negation of all authority, and it is an immediate praxis. It is the manifestation of the ego that rejects all forms of submission and claims its autonomy. It is not limited to the actions of illegalists, anarcho-punks, or insurrectionists; anarchy is the daily act of resisting authority.
Societies, in their attempts to unravel the causes of crime, rarely ask: why is crime a crime? Such definitions are dictated by those who place themselves in the roles of judges, legislators of a morality that serves the perpetuation of order. But the act of judging belongs to each of us. If we possess ethics, principles, and responsibilities, let them result from our own reflection and not from external impositions. No individual has the prerogative to dictate what is correct or desirable for another. That is a decision that belongs exclusively to each being. If your family insists that you follow the path of formal education, you are not obligated to obey. If society dictates expectations based on your biological sex, you do not need to follow them. This applies to any imposition—cultural, religious, or political.
Reflect. Question me if you deem it necessary; refute every word, or accept them only if they withstand the scrutiny of your conscience. Exercise your freedom without reservation, for the priority of each individual is themselves. I write this because I have reasons, but I am equally willing to debate.
Thank you.
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