Ever notice how we don’t refer to something as spyware anymore?  (By the way, congratulations if you don’t know what I’m talking about. That means you’re probably younger than most of my readers.  And let me bring you up to speed: there was a time when we actively tried to eliminate spyware from our browsing experience).

Then we apparently gave up.

One of the first times I took philosophy – like chocolate, and plunged it right smack in the middle of Information Security, like peanut butter, was when Dr. Gene Spafford told the story of the Panopticon. We were the first Tier 3 sponsor of Purdue University’s CERIAS group, so I often benefited from the talks by this amazing cyber visionary.

When I had some free time after that symposium, I used a good old-fashioned encyclopedia – made of paper – to drill-down on the story, and learned that Jeramy Bentham, an 18th century philosopher, originally proposed it as a possible method to reform human beings.  His theory involved using a circular prison in which all cells face a central watchtower. The prisoners would never know when they’re being observed, so they would internalize surveillance — and begin to police themselves.

But in the 20th century, Michel Foucault re-interpreted the metaphor. The Panopticon became a symbol for modern systems of power and control — not just prisons, but schools, factories, hospitals, and later digital systems. Observation itself becomes a form of discipline.

This concept was brought into our Acceptable Use Policy with the notion that all activity may be monitored.  The hope is that users will modify their behavior, knowing that it just might be watched.

I realized this when I was reading a magazine this morning. See, there was also a time when magazines were printed on a substance called paper.

With one of the last of the warmer mornings this fall, I wanted to practice my morning ritual outside, under the beautiful sunrise, where the blue sky was so crisp against the red and orange autumn tree leaves.  So, I took a “hardcopy” magazine, and a cup of coffee, to the bench outside our Family Barn. (Again, younger readers, I quoted the word “hardcopy,” because there was a time when we didn’t have to say that word.  If we took a magazine somewhere, that meant we took a physical booklet).

And while I sat under the beautiful sky, aware of how the trees that had already fully lost their leaves scratched at the clouds that were starting to form, with their newly grown twigs, I felt this strange calmness, as I read through the magazine.

That “rag” was sent to me by my brokerage firm, and I threw it in a drawer, where I temporarily keep “hardcopy” things that I never really get around to reading.

It occurred to me that young people probably don’t know what is meant when I use the term “rag.”  It’s what we used to call “magazines.” 

But technology, more than anything, influences the etymology of our culture.  The morphing of terminology has plagued me for years, confounding me over buzzwords like threat hunting and/or even the semantic drift of the prefix “cyber,” which has actually gained a status of a standalone word.

And now? I’m saddened that the term spyware — at least in regard to its impact on our privacy – has somewhat morphed into the term, “algorithm.” 

Currently the “rag drawer” has more than magazines: statements from insurance companies, invitations to workshops, and such. But also, ISACAs Control Magazine, the Hoosier Banker, and the Ohio Record.  And newsletters and magazines from various businesses that are still sending newsletters and magazines, printed on processed tree fibers. (paper)

This particular rag had an article I spotted, and put at the top of the drawer, so I would remember to check it out first. The article, about people who were in the first six months of their retirement, appealed to me, given I retired two months ago.   

As I turned the pages of that rag to that article, that calm, serene feeling came again. And it was strong enough to make me notice it and pay closer attention to it. As I began to recognize the feeling, I realized: nobody can tell that I’m reading this article. I am momentarily escaping the digital panopticon. I am dwelling in a state of privacy, as I stimulated my neurons with something besides blue light.

As I flipped the pages, I did not risk carpal tunnel.  And nobody trapped how long I hesitated on each page or which ad I looked at while I was reading an article.

But the reason Dr. Spafford brought up the story of the Panopticon is to warn of the dangers of monitoring. Not only did constant surveillance change prisoners’ behavior, but it also transformed their identity.  According to studies by Foucault, when guards could see prisoners at any time, but prisoners couldn’t tell when they were being watched, the prisoners suffered from what some modern philosophers call “hyper-visibility fatigue” — a chronic awareness of being watched that breeds anxiety, conformity, and even apathy.

Did I change the way I behaved, having escaped the Panopticon’s gaze? I don’t think so.

But I do know if I would’ve taken my phone instead of the rag, I probably would’ve been more anxious, conforming, and apathetic.

Cynical.  Suspicious.

Even angry.

But what that rag changed, if only for that morning, was the energy within me.  As I noticed the smell of the paper, new neural pathways opened.  Curiosity came back.

As that happened, I realized I no longer felt controlled. If only for that morning, I was no longer imprisoned by algorithms pushing social media endorphins.

I was free …