There is no torture anymore but obedience remains

Foucault and the new forms of surveillance.

Once upon a time, punishment was visible. Blood was shed, the square filled with bodies, and before the eyes of the crowd, a single body became a “lesson.” The suffering of one reminded society who held the power. Executions, tortures, and public punishments did not merely target the criminal. They engraved fear into the collective memory of the people. But one day, punishment fell silent. Blood no longer flowed in the open, yet the place of its flow shifted. Instead of our bodies, our inner selves, our behaviors, thoughts, and desires began to be disciplined.

As executions in the squares diminished, society grew quieter, but this quiet was not freedom. It was simply the birth of a new, invisible form of control. People were no longer chained, but governed through gazes, rules, and measures of normality. The spectacle of torture disappeared, yet its essence seeped into the fabric of everyday life. Into school discipline, office reports, and the constant urge to appear “proper” on social media. All of these serve the same purpose: to make the individual watch over themselves.

No one ties us to a torture device anymore, yet the fear of making a wrong move, of deviating from the norm, creates new forms of pain within us. Punishment has become invisible, but not ineffective. It is silent, yet profound. We are no longer punished in public squares, but within ourselves.

The central question here is: if torture is gone, how are we punished today? Where did punishment hide once it left the body? Let us now look behind this transformation at the mechanisms through which invisible power governs our souls.

In earlier times, power strengthened itself by displaying its presence. The goal of punishment in the square was not only to spill blood, but to stage sovereignty. A theatre of domination. Every act of torture was a performance designed to exhibit the ruler’s unshakable will. Yet over time, this theatre evolved into a new form of power, one that no longer sought to “terrify,” but to “govern.” The bloody spectacle was replaced by quiet, continuous surveillance. Power began to operate not openly, but discreetly and routinely.

Michel Foucault captures this transformation most precisely in Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison (1975). He argues that from the eighteenth century onward, power withdrew punishment from public view and relocated it within “institutions.” The pain once inflicted upon the body was redirected toward the soul. The goal was no longer to kill, but to correct. Punishment became a mechanism that shaped not external obedience but internal order. A form of control that made the individual both subject and guardian of their own discipline.

Foucault describes this transformation through the concept of the “Panopticon.” Originally imagined by the English philosopher Jeremy Bentham, the model features a circular prison with a central watchtower. Prisoners can see the tower, but they cannot know whether someone is inside it. This uncertainty compels them to monitor their own behavior. Thus, surveillance shifts from the outside inward, ultimately turning every individual into a self-disciplined prisoner.

The panoptic principle extends far beyond prisons and permeates the entire structure of society. In schools, students are shaped under the guise of “discipline.” In hospitals, bodies are categorized as “normal” or “abnorma.” In offices, individuals are pressured to improve themselves under the demand for productivity. All these systems invisibly perpetuate punishment but it now takes place within the individual.

Foucault observes that this new form of discipline enables the “economical functioning of power,” meaning punishment is no longer about inflicting pain but about regulating behavior (Foucault, 1975). In this way, torture becomes silent, yet it does not disappear. It spreads across societal structures, rooting itself in the individual’s psyche.

This transformation of punishment also alters the very understanding of freedom. Whereas freedom once meant escape from torture, it now appears as conformity. The ability to be “proper” according to societal norms. Individuals live perpetually under invisible scrutiny, adjusting their actions, thoughts, attire, and speech to align with these unseen gazes.

Consequently, the public spectacle of torture is replaced by office performance evaluations, social media “likes,” and standardized testing within education. The nature of punishment changes, but its goal remains the same: to create obedient, regulated subjects.

Today, no one is executed in the public square, yet everyone exists under an invisible gaze. This gaze may manifest in a supervisor at work, followers on social media, or even the scrutiny of one’s own conscience. The “torture” of modern society lies precisely in this continuity of observation, living as though one is constantly watched, without knowing by whom, when, or where, yet always sensing the gaze.

As Foucault notes, power is no longer concentrated in a central authority. It infiltrates micro-level interactions, everyday relationships, and behavioral norms (Foucault, 1975). Surveillance now resides in the teacher’s gaze at school, the doctor’s decision in a hospital, and codified behaviors normalized on social media. No one directly compels us anymore, yet we compel ourselves.

The clearest example of this phenomenon emerges on social media. Individuals carefully curate their posts, images, and words based on the anticipated reactions of others. Everything, from clothing choices to personal opinions, is shaped according to the likelihood of being “liked.” This is not merely social behavior but a form of internalized discipline. Each “like” or “comment” acts as a form of validation, while any form of rejection becomes a subtle punishment. In this way, the physical form of punishment transforms into a symbolic, yet tangible, presence in the digital space.

Even educational systems reinforce this disciplinary mechanism. Students are measured and normalized through tests, grades, and codes of conduct. From childhood, individuals learn to shape their behavior within frameworks of conformity. Punishment is no longer inflicted on the body, but directed at potential: the statement, “You could have done better,” becomes one of the most refined forms of contemporary discipline.

A defining characteristic of invisible punishment in the modern era is its voluntary acceptance. People are subjected to control, yet they perceive it as freedom. They believe, “I am doing this for my own growth,” or “I choose this myself,” while in reality, the system molds them to its objectives.

Thus, the silent legacy of torture persists within daily life, absent are blood and screams, yet the form of pain has shifted. It continues as psychological pressure, social shame, and the constant feeling of inadequacy.

This mechanism of internalized control operates primarily through notions of “conscience” and “responsibility.” Individuals feel guilty, not for what they do, but for what they fail to do according to prescribed norms. This represents the most subtle and effective form of punishment: the individual becomes their own disciplinarian. In this way, the system no longer requires external violence. A regulator is created within the person themselves.

This disciplinary mechanism is easily observable in everyday life. For instance, a woman experiences guilt when failing to conform to society’s “ideal mother” model. A young professional pressures themselves with the thought, “I must work harder.” Another person feels left behind for not performing certain actions on social media. None of these are overt punishments, yet each constitutes internalized discipline in its own right.

Foucault refers to this phenomenon as the “production of the subject.” According to him, power does not operate by merely restricting the individual, but by shaping them. Under the pressure of this power, a person constructs their identity, desires, and even their understanding of “freedom” in accordance with the demands of the system. As a result, we believe ourselves to be free, while our very concept of freedom is framed by the dictates of power.

Prison walls may no longer exist, yet their equivalent resides within each individual: a voice, a measure, a fear. People regulate themselves, monitor themselves, and even punish themselves. This is the prison of the soul. Silent, yet profoundly deep. The most unsettling aspect is that the key to this prison lies in the hands of the individual themselves. The modern form of punishment is hidden within this paradox: we are under surveillance, yet we maintain it voluntarily.

The greatest tragedy of the modern individual is the illusion of freedom. While they believe they are free, their freedom is shaped within mechanisms of control. This situation transforms not only individuals but the very structure of society. The transition from a disciplinary society to a society of surveillance has been completed. Humans are regulated not only by laws but also by algorithms, systems, and flows of information. Punishment now resides in statistical indicators, behavioral analyses, and social media algorithms.

Foucault argues that these forms of surveillance place individuals in a perpetual dilemma between “obedience” and “adaptation.” As the individual complies, the system strengthens as the system strengthens, the individual seeks more “freedom,” yet this pursuit invariably returns to the same cycle of control.

Against this backdrop, the essential question remains: are we truly free, or are we merely “culturally punished” subjects? If torture no longer exists, yet its function (to ensure obedience) persists, then punishment has not ended; it has merely transformed.

Today, punishment operates not through blood, but through silence, shame, and socially normalized expectations. Control over us no longer comes from the outside. It has long since been internalized. Every time we think, “I should behave this way,” or, “It’s better not to say this,” we reinforce this invisible punishment.

The struggle of the modern individual begins here: by recognizing the invisible pain and refusing to carry it silently. Sometimes, the greatest freedom lies precisely in seeing the invisible torture concealed within silent obedience.

Nigar Shahverdiyeva
Sociologist, Research Writer