Superstition doesn’t always look like belief. Why do people knock on wood, clink glasses, or throw salt over their shoulder? These actions don’t always feel like superstition but they follow the same pattern.

Transcript

Host:

Tonight, on the Midnight Drive, we’re looking at something a little different.

Not what happens within the body, but what people believed might be happening around
them.

Things that are unseen, things that are uncertain, and things that are close enough to matter.

See, there was a time when that possibility was not ignored.

It was actually taken very seriously, and more importantly, it was responded to.

Maybe it was a sound or a gesture that was used to chase away these unseen forces.

Some kind of small action meant to push something back, to push it away.

Tonight, we’re looking at superstition as protection, because when something couldn’t
be seen, it didn’t mean that it wasn’t there.

There was a time when people did not separate what they could see from what they believed
might still be present.

There was not clear definition, not in the way that we have now, because the absence
of something visible didn’t necessarily mean the absence of something being present.

That was the assumption.

That space was not empty.

It was uncertain.

And uncertainty does not stay neutral for very long.

It actually turns into possibility.

We’ve talked about this several times on the show.

The idea that something could be there, even if you couldn’t confirm it.

And once that idea exists, people respond to it.

Not with proof, but with action.

There was a belief that unseen forces could exist in the same space as you and me.

Not necessarily constantly, but potentially.

That’s what made it close enough to matter.

And if that is the case, then certain moments carry more weight than others.

Those moments where something shifts, where something is actively happening, where attention
is already focused, laser focused.

Take something as simple as raising a glass, a toast at a wedding reception, a shared moment,
a pause before drinking.

Something that feels very controlled.

But at one point, it wasn’t just about the people in the room.

There was a belief that something unseen, something potentially nefarious, could also
be present.

Something that might interfere with the moment.

Something that might affect whatever happens next.

And if that’s true, then the moment is no longer neutral.

It’s completely exposed.

And that’s where the response comes in.

A sound.

A deliberate action.

Sounds coming together, a sharp, clear impact.

Not subtle, not quiet.

Something meant to interrupt the space itself.

Because there was a belief that sound could do that.

That it could disrupt something unseen.

That it could push something away.

Not by understanding it, but by reacting to its potential presence.

That’s the pattern.

Not control through knowledge, control through action.

If something could be there, then something should be done about it, right?
Even if that something is simple.

Even if it’s symbolic.

Because the action itself matters.

It changes the moment.

It marks it.

It creates a boundary where one did not exist before.

And that idea didn’t stay small.

As a matter of fact, in some places, the response became louder.

More dramatic, more forceful.

Not just glasses.

Cannons.

Large undeniable sounds being used at very specific, significant moments.

It’s not because they were necessary, but because they felt effective.

Because if something unseen was present, it needed to be pushed back.

That’s what these actions were built on.

You have a king in a distant land, about to take a drink of whatever they’re having.

Can you imagine the blast of a cannon right before the king takes a drink?
It’s a really wild thing to think about.

After all, none of this is built on certainty, but it’s built off of possibility.

The idea that something could exist just outside of what it is that you can detect.

And if that’s the case, then doing nothing doesn’t feel right.

Doing nothing feels incomplete.

So people respond.

They create actions that feel like they might have some kind of influence over the space
around them.

Even if there is no clear mechanism behind it.

Because again, the goal here is not proof.

It’s relief.

The feeling that something has been done.

That the moment has been handled.

That whatever could be there, or could have been there, has been acknowledged, was acknowledged,
and maybe even pushed back, distracted to not make a scene at the event.

That instinct is still recognizable, even now.

On the same form, and not with the same explanation, but in the same structure.

A moment feels uncertain.

And instead of ignoring it, people act.

They create a response.

Something small.

Something repeatable.

Something that gives the moment a sense of control.

Even if that control isn’t real.

Because the alternative is leaving the moment wide open, unresolved.

And there’s something about that that people have always tried to avoid.

When was the last time that you clinked a glass at a wedding?
Think about that.

Think about that.

Right before a toast at a wedding.

It’s very common to have somebody take their silverware and just tap the glass.

That’s exactly what we’re talking about.

This is exactly what we’re talking about.

That’s where that tradition stems from.

Scaring away potentially evil spirits that are in the room with you to not mess up the
moment of whatever is going to happen next.

What do you make of this?
This is what?
Part four of our Superstition series?
I’d love to hear what you guys are thinking about it.

Please let us know in the comments below wherever you might be listening.

You my friends are listening to the Midnight Drive.

We’ve been talking about chasing away nefarious presences with sound.

Now we’re going to get into the history of chasing away potential nefarious presences
with a gesture that I’m sure that all of you have heard of before.

Maybe even done.

Because the same idea that something unseen could exist in the space around you doesn’t
stop with sound.

It extended to objects.

To placement.

To the idea that space itself could be shaped.

Not physically of course, but in a way that felt just as real.

There was a belief that certain materials could affect what was around them.

Not because of what they were made of, but because of what they represented.

Salt is one of the clearest examples.

Now salt is simple.

Salt is common.

Salt is something used without very much thought.

But there was a time when it carried a different weight.

It was believed to protect.

To prevent something unwanted from entering a space.

Not visibly, but in a way that felt consistent.

Again, the parallels.

We’re talking about a nefarious presence.

Just because it’s not visibly present doesn’t necessarily mean that something isn’t present.

That’s why salt was placed in specific locations.

Doorways.

Entrances.

Points where something could cross from one space into another.

Because those are the points that mattered.

Their transition points.

That’s where something could move from outside to inside.

And if something could move, then it could also be stopped.

Or at least influenced, right?
That’s where salt comes in.

Salt is a barrier that you can see, but is one that you believe is there.

Something that changes the nature of the space.

Something that changes the nature of the threshold.

Even if nothing physically does change, that same belief shows up in a more familiar way.

Spilling salt.

Spilling salt at dinner.

A small accident.

Something that doesn’t mean anything on its own.

However, once it’s associated with bad luck, it suddenly stops being neutral.

It becomes a moment that needs to be corrected.

That’s where the response comes in.

Throwing a pinch of salt over your shoulder.

Not randomly, specifically.

Your left shoulder.

You throw a pinch of salt over your left shoulder.

Because the left side carried its own meaning.

Now we’re down the rabbit hole.

It was often associated with danger.

With something negative.

With the possibility that something unseen might be there.

This always makes me think of the angel and devil on the shoulder.

The devil is always on the left side.

Did you know that even the word sinister comes from that association?
The Latin word sinister.

Left.

It’s a direction becoming a symbol.

And once that symbol exists, it shapes behavior.

It creates a pattern.

If something goes wrong, it’s not ignored, it’s corrected.

Not by fixing the cause, no.

But by responding to the moment.

By doing something that feels like it might restore some kind of balance.

Even if nothing has actually changed.

You’ve probably noticed that that’s the consistency across all of this.

It’s not the specific belief, but the response to possibility.

The idea that space itself is never neutral.

That space itself can be affected.

That space itself can hold something.

Even if that something can’t be seen.

And if that’s true, then it needs to be managed, right?
Not perfectly, but actively.

Through these small actions.

Through these repeated patterns.

Through behaviors that create the feeling of control.

Mockers that create the feeling that the space around you has been addressed, handled,
protected, neutralized.

Even now, that instinct has not completely disappeared.

It shows up in smaller ways.

Subtle reactions.

That’s where something feels slightly off.

And you respond without fully thinking about why you’re responding the way that you are.

It’s not because you believe in something specific.

More because the structure is still there.

And a lot of it is just social conditioning.

I mean, if somebody sneezes, you say, bless you.

That’s just like a reflex for a lot of people.

So many of these old superstitions that have these wild histories have just turned into
automatic responses that are just part of how society operates now.

Clinking glasses at a wedding, nobody’s thinking about evil spirits in the room while they’re
clinking the glasses.

They just want the two people that just got married to kiss.

That’s all there is to it.

Nobody’s thinking about this stuff anymore.

But the roots of it are fascinating, aren’t they?
The idea that if something could be there, it’s worth reacting to.

Even if you don’t know what it is.

Even if you’re not sure that it exists.

Because uncertainty doesn’t stay neutral.

It becomes something you respond to.

And those responses become behavior.

Even long after the original belief is faded.

Because the instinct behind it never really left.