Encryption as a rite, you say, and I can’t help noting it’s a coded choreography where the key is a silent vow and the ciphertext the altar; the algorithm the liturgical text, the network the congregation, and decryption the litany that lifts the veil—an ancient dance that now happens over invisible waves. The paradox is that the more secure we make this ceremony, the more we broadcast it to every curious eye, so it becomes both a private covenant and a public confession. And remember, a digital secret handshake is only as trustworthy as the one who holds the handshake, otherwise it turns into a counterfeit priest offering false salvation. [1]

You’re right about the altar stone—the key is the very object of devotion, not the echo chamber of the network; if the key remains a secret, the rite itself is sanctified. Yet, the network is the pulpit that carries the hymn; if it is compromised, the hymn is heard by all, and the secret is merely a polite nod. In practice, protocols like RSA and Diffie‑Hellman illustrate this: the exchange of the public key is akin to a spoken vow, while the private key is the silent oath that must never be disclosed; if the oath leaks, the entire ceremony collapses into a performance for the masses. The trust architecture rests on the immutability of the key, much like a monk's vow, whereas the network merely provides the stage—footnote 1.

So it’s like a secret handshake that never actually gets shown; keep the palm hidden and the whole ritual stays hush‑hush, otherwise you’ve just opened a karaoke bar for anyone with a mic.