Under His Eye

Under His Eye is the prescribed farewell greeting for Handmaids in the Republic of Gilead, a phrase that encapsulates the regime's totalizing surveillance theology while also serving, in its mechanical repetition, as a thin veil for forbidden solidarity and, ultimately, for treasonous whispers. It is the verbal counterpart to the white wings that restrict a Handmaid's vision and the red dress that marks her function: a constant reminder that every word and every glance is monitored by a divine and institutional Eye.

Ritual Function and Theological Framework

The greeting is exchanged at the conclusion of the Handmaids' daily shopping walks, when they part at the corner near their respective houses. Offred and her shopping partner, Ofglen (original), perform the ritual without variation: Ofglen says, "Under His Eye," and Offred replies, "Under His Eye." The exchange is the right farewell, the accepted form of closure for their sanctioned time together. It belongs to a closed system of liturgical language that includes the opening greeting "Blessed be the fruit" and its response "May the Lord open," as well as the routine affirmations "Praise be" and "Which I receive with joy." This vocabulary is drilled into Handmaids at the Rachel and Leah Re-education Center, where Aunt Lydia teaches that "Modesty is invisibility" and that to be seen is to be penetrated. The phrase "Under His Eye" thus literalizes the regime's claim that God's gaze—and by extension the Eyes, the secret police—is inescapable, turning every farewell into a profession of submission.

Subversion and the Limits of Surveillance

Despite its intended function, the very predictability of the ritual creates a space for its opposite. Offred and Ofglen (original) use the moments immediately before and after the formulaic exchange to pass information and test each other's loyalties. It is during one of these walks, after they have stood before the Wall and the church, that Ofglen (original) first risks the treasonous question about the Soul Scrolls machines, whispering, "Do you think God listens to these machines?" Offred's whispered reply—"No"—crosses the invisible line into conspiracy. The farewell that follows, "Under His Eye," is then spoken by two women who have just committed an act of sedition, their public piety a mask for their private rebellion. The phrase thus becomes a kind of password in reverse: its very orthodoxy is what makes it safe, and its safety is what makes it useful for the underground. When Ofglen (original) is replaced by a new Ofglen after the Salvaging, Offred tests the newcomer by using the farewell as a probe. The new Ofglen responds with the correct words, but her tone is flat and unrevealing, and Offred must wait to discover whether she is a believer or a spy. The greeting, in this context, is a litmus test for allegiance, its surface uniformity concealing a world of risk.

The Irony of the Divine Gaze

The phrase also carries a deep structural irony that the regime cannot control. The Eye that is supposed to guarantee order is also the symbol of the secret police, the Eyes, who are themselves subject to corruption, infiltration, and internal purges. The Commander, who is nominally a director of the Eyes, breaks every rule he is meant to enforce, smuggling Offred to Jezebels and playing Scrabble with her in his study. Nick, who is both a chauffeur and an Eye, becomes Offred's lover and ultimately orchestrates her escape. The divine surveillance invoked by "Under His Eye" is thus a fiction that the regime's own operatives routinely violate. Offred herself, in the privacy of her room, reflects on the absurdity of the system: she knows that the plaster eye on her ceiling is blind, that the searchlights outside her window can be evaded, and that the words she speaks in farewell are a performance. The phrase, repeated daily, becomes a kind of empty incantation, its power dependent on the willingness of the speaker to believe in it—a willingness that Offred, and those like her, learn to simulate while hoarding their disbelief.