Michael Andrick: Power passes through the medium

What happens when someone simply prints texts and distributes them? On the power and solidarity of strangers, on the fourth anniversary of my BLZ column.

Michael Andrick Karolina Kovac

If someone has a lordship over a patch of land—that is, if he can live in a comfortable house, eat well, enjoy himself, and be assured of the shy friendliness of his surroundings—he may not talk much. As the leader of the pack without the toils of wandering, gathering, and hunting, as the lord of his seat with free choice of partner, he has, as Homo sapiens senses in his gut, reached his optimum. What is there left to talk about?

The ruler does speak within the family, where everyone wants to stick together, and the servants, yes, they want to say a word now and then so that they are reliably provided for and work well. But the subjects, because of their powerlessness, offer the ruler no opportunity for discussion: They could not give him the satisfaction that the presence of a countervailing power in the other demands.

A counterpart, a potential for difference, a moment of freedom must be present and occasionally effective, where exchange is to take place instead of declaration. Exchange requires a certain amount of power on all sides.

What should a ruler talk about with his subjects? What common ground does he have with those who tremble before him? Only the history and legitimacy of his own rule. This is so simple that it's difficult to understand.

If a ruler speaks to his subjects about any other topic on his own initiative, he relativizes his rule - because by talking to the subjects he puts his views into relation to their views.

This, however, suggests that the sovereign power perhaps requires something from its subjects, and is therefore not truly sovereign. The sovereign's dignity lies in his detachment, his separation from his subjects. This dignity must suffer if he speaks to his subjects in a manner other than that of a ruler .

So, in predictable formulas, at predictable times, and with predictable results, the prince speaks: "The harvest poor, the taxes late? 20 lashes, you're forgiven. And send your daughter, the blonde one, to me this evening. You may go."

Cultivating the imperial silence

Being the master is therefore a rather quiet act, and it is advisable for the ruler to make this silence as general as possible in the halls of the state outside of office hours.

Where the ruler himself does not speak at a time set by him, only the constant reminder of the history and legitimacy of his own rule may be the topic of public discussion.

The necessary culture of remembrance may often degenerate into speeches, but it is part of this imperial silence. Beautiful buildings, the well-chosen names of streets and squares, splendidly dressed officials of various ranks, small club crests with royal stamps, and so on – all this contributes to ensuring that everyone is constantly surrounded by the noise of activity, but no one maintains the calm of the matter itself, of one's own control.

But every subject desires to discuss his life in the servitude of the ruler – just as the ruler desires to share his concerns about his rule with confidants.

This is the moment in which the subject might discover his own power – for example, by observing: “He is one, we are many.” This might happen in conversation with other subjects, but it is not yet very dangerous for the ruler.

Never, by mere chance, will large groups of subjects hold these discussions at the same time and with the same result – and even if this should happen, perhaps because oppressive mismanagement by the government affects everyone equally, this discontent would by no means be expressed in a public place where it could become the cause of an uprising.

The word has become flyer

The type case, the printed word, becomes the greatest power factor in the state the moment the word becomes a flyer. What one person types and prints can be read by another who has no previous connection with the person who arranges the characters in order.

And this is where the magic of solidarity happens without proximity: any number of people can see from the thought that there is someone, indeed countless others, who feel, speak, and are like themselves.

The mere fact that someone even thought of setting this particular standard for others shows that they were counting on these others and their similar suffering and aspirations. In this sense, the standard was always set for precisely the person reading it. And this is felt and passed on.

Thus, discontent and joy metastasize in the space between the unknown, who can now know the law of each other, and these metastases of anonymous friendship and disembodied compassion can combine to form a web in which the rulers must inevitably become entangled.

Now, other topics than the history and legitimacy of one's own rule will circulate in the space between strangers. But a ruler will sharply ask anyone who speaks outside his formation: "What does he want?"

The medium, the middle ground, is to be understood as the space between the unknown and the arena of their potential alliances. What the mostly unknown multitudes find in the medium in terms of furniture, wall decorations, rituals, and background music is, once the word "flyer" has been coined, of crucial importance to the ruler.

And so the wise ruler will have the medium developed through licensed printed works, which will be kept available for his subjects in easily accessible places throughout the country. This ensures that the people's discontent and joy can emerge within the right intellectual framework and, whether comforted or subdued, sink back into it.

Hence the eternal alliance between government and those providing edification, who in the West and elsewhere have always been happy to print stories about desert peoples and miracle workers from a thousand years ago in deluxe editions and to read from them in order to offer the oppressed flock not only comfort but also a reminder of humility.

A certain amount of competition

Things aren't quite so simple anymore once the peculiarities among the subjects have crept in. When the subject begins to hear not one, but sometimes two or three speeches, each from a different turn, on the same topic from the gilded book of wonders and desert walks, the ruler needs a new official: the interpreter, that is, the explainer or mediator.

What is needed now are interpreters who draw from the standard works of the medium as if from a collection of stories and sayings and who allow these – in whole or in part – to be varied and circulated in the spirit of power.

The authorities in which the interpreters reside are the media houses, which can more accurately be described as designers of the medium, the space between rulers and the ruled. Media houses even compete with each other, which is roughly equivalent to the competition between three or four speechwriters for the favor of the one king.

Media houses and their type cases exist to subjugate people to a rule with paper, without constantly demanding that they bow. It's enough for them to tilt their heads slightly to read, then look up and return to their seats.

If a subject of the ruler begins to print paper outside the type cases of sovereign-approved media houses and gives it to others to read, he will immediately be pursued with fire and sword by every ruler who is able to do so.

But if a subject begins to print unsupervised material and escapes unscathed, then domination has been relativized and freedom expanded to the same extent. Domination is achieved through the medium, and so is liberation.

Michael Andrick is a philosopher and bestselling author ("In Moral Prison"). His new book, "I'm Not There – Notes for a Free Spirit," was published in May 2025 and premieres on July 15 at 8 p.m. at the Pfefferberg Theater in Berlin .