#52 - The Anatomy of a Superstition

The Anatomy of a Superstition

1/26/05 (#52)

In my life, there has always been a ritual: knocking on wood.

Not really always. This is actually a later-life tic, a seed which may have been planted in youth, but the conditions that stimulated growth came later in life. There was no "learning" of the practice: One day, I was not a believer; the next day, I had always been a believer. I feel like a character in a George Orwell novel---the way it is today is the way it has always been.

The origins of the phrase are British, where one is advised to "touch wood". Some say the phrase is ancient, and used for calling out the nymphs that lived in the trees. Others insist it has biblical overtones, the "wood" representing the cross. However, I'm not particularly concerned with historical origins. Like most quasi-religions, I take what I need from the historical texts and disregard the rest. My interest is in what it does for me now.

For the uninitiated, allow me to explain the stock-model superstition: knocking on wood is a ritual designed to ward off jinxes. For example: you're walking back from a job interview, and you think, "Damn, that felt good! I think this one is mine." That is the perfect opportunity to knock on wood, because Fate likes to play games with braggarts--if Fate heard such boastfulness, Fate might be inclined to get involved in the decision in a mischievous way. By knocking on wood, you are basically calling Fate's attention to the transgression, with an unspoken addendum of "I'm getting a little ahead of myself, and I'd like to retract that last comment." Or perhaps you make a joke that aims for funny, but comes out as callous or uncaring---a quick knock on wood frees you of the guilt, and frees the object of your thought from the horrible outcome you had imagined for them.

From that simple framework, various interpretations have been developed among the practitioners of this magic. The first variation I learned was from Denyse Wilson, imparted to me 20-odd years ago as we sat at the window table in the Drydock Restaurant in Winterport, Maine. (The very same table where I learned to play cribbage, from the very same mentor.) Denyse had made a jinx-worthy statement, and as her fingers fell toward the maple tabletop, her eyes widened as she looked at my motionless hands.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"You have to knock."

"But I didn't say anything."

"Everyone at the table has to knock, otherwise it doesn't work."

I had never heard this rule, but I humored her with a gentle series of taps. If she was right, a refusal on my part would have barred her from the mini-absolution that she sought---hardly an effective way of making points with the proverbial ladies. (That lady, in particular.)

At some time between then and now, I have developed additional variations on the knock on wood theme. But as I stated previously, I have no memory of these adaptations, and recall making no modifications to my standard knocking protocol. One day, I was a non-believer; the next, I not only knocked on wood, but I had an elaborate infrastructure of checks and balances designed for maximum jinx protection. Included in my current dogma are these personalized mutations:

Audibility: While some people believe that the knock is only required when a phrase is spoken aloud, I have no such decibel-based requirements. If I'm riding with the family and I see a car swerve and I momentarily imagine the car careering toward us, that's worthy of knocking on wood. While I do not pretend that I have the ability to will things to fruition (my day job proves that), I see no harm in doing everything possible to keep the grille of a stranger's car away from the fenders of my own.

Reaction time: As stated above, a knock on wood is an effort to highlight a portion of that ongoing script we call our lives. As such, you have to knock on wood as soon as possible---when I'm walking the dog, it's the next passing tree; when I'm in the car, it's the wooden keychain. (Yes, that's why I have a wooden keychain.) You can't find a piece of wood 30 minutes after-the-fact and say, "Oh, yeah, and this is for that whole 'hit-by-a-drunk-driver' thought pattern I had back on Wabash Avenue." It doesn't it work that way. I have no idea why, but it doesn't.

Duration: Minimum of three knocks per cycle. To ward off more serious concerns, increase appropriately in relation to severity of the infraction.

Painted wood: Acceptable substitute when necessary (the only wood accessible from our shower is the painted door frame), but unfinished wood is preferred. After all, the idea is "knock on wood", not "knock on paint". Ditto with varnish.

Paper: Some feel that, since paper is a wood product, knocking on paper is an acceptable surrogate for a tree branch or unfinished pine furniture, but I can't abide by that logic. This argument strikes me as akin to a donut being deemed a member of the "vegetable" group because sugar comes from sugar cane and corn syrup, and flour comes from corn or wheat: thus, at one time, the donut's ingredients were vegetables. Perhaps scientifically defensible...but broccoli it ain't. The same is true for knocking on paper.

It must involve the middle knuckle: I suspect this is a physical manifestation of my fear of superstitions. (Here that noise? That's the irony alert going off.) (I worry that I will one day forget to apply the anti-jinx and will find myself under a piano as movers fail to successfully navigate it through a 5th story window.) I need for the knock to be heard, and the middle knuckle provides the most resonance. For a routine knock-on-wood, this knuckle alone will suffice. If it's a concern of a more significant nature, the middle and ring knuckles are employed. In cases where the message absolutely, positively needs to be delivered...

The Two-Handed Knock: They do not need to be simultaneous, and of course, they both need to be middle knuckles. But if you joke about someone's untimely demise, both of those hands should be busy. And more than three knocks---if it's serious enough to warrant the two-handed knock, then it also warrants five raps from each hand.

Two-Knuckle Knock: If you believe in the superstition, then you realize its obvious flaw: Sometimes, there is no wood to be found. Imagine a man stranded in a life raft in the ocean, and he thinks for a minute what it would be like to be fodder for a shark frenzy: Must he wait for the next bit of flotsam to drift his way in order to get the attention of fate? Must he reach into the shark infested waters to get it? I refuse to believe fate could be so arbitrary, so I have developed a unique middle-knuckle-on-middle-knuckle substitute, handy for riding public transportation (try finding real wood on a bus or train) and for dark thoughts generated during cave exploration.

Not everyone has to knock: Oddly enough, the personalized caveat that introduced me to the flexibility of the phenomenon has never been one to which I have adhered. I'll do it if I meet someone from that camp, but to me, it's a personal notation system. No one else needs to be involved.

Knocking on one's head: yeah, funny, your head is made of wood---but this is serious mysticism, and unless you've got George Washington's orthodontist, this will provide you no protection. You can't just make up the rules as you go along. (Well, actually, I guess you can, but this isn't one that I made up, so it doesn't count.)

There, now I'm on record. This way, if a day arrives that has me insisting, "I have always required that it be a hardwood", this document will be the photograph that arrives in the vacuum tube, the proof that Big Brother lies, that things have not always been the way they are.

Of course, in that metaphor, I am not only Orwell's Winston Smith---I am also Big Brother. And if I say it's always been hardwoods, it will have always been hardwoods.

©2005 wpreagan