Samhain – the Celtic ritual that marked the end of one year and the beginning of another

There are nights that feel different. Not because the sky looks unusual. But because people choose to give them another meaning: they light candles, tell stories. Remember those who are no longer here. And feel, at least for a few hours, that the visible world and the invisible one draw closer to each other.

For the ancient Celts, such a night carried the name Samhain.

It was celebrated around the beginning of November and marked one of the most important moments of the year: the end of the bright season and the beginning of winter.

But in many ways, Samhain was also the beginning of a new year.

Herds were brought back from the pastures. Harvests were already gathered. Life slowly retreated into homes, and communities prepared for the cold months.

In a world where existence depended directly on the rhythm of nature, this passage was not just a change of season. It was a threshold. And, like any important threshold, it needed a ritual.

The earliest references to Samhain appear in medieval Irish manuscripts, yet researchers believe the celebration is much older, rooted in pre‑Christian Celtic traditions.

On that night, ritual fires were lit, offerings were made, and in many communities, food was left at the door or on the table. Not for guests, but for those who had departed.

It was believed that during Samhain, the boundary between the world of humans and the world of spirits became more permeable. It was not necessarily a night of fear. It was, rather, a night of meeting. A meeting with ancestors. With memory. With what cannot be seen but continues to be part of life.

Religious historian Ronald Hutton, in his studies on British festivals, notes that many modern stories about Samhain are influenced by recent reinterpretations. Still, historical sources clearly show that the celebration was one of the four great seasonal festivals of the Celtic world and marked a profound shift in the rhythm of community life.

Anthropologist Barry Cunliffe, a specialist in Celtic civilization, observes that for these communities, time was not perceived merely as a succession of days. It flowed in cycles.

And certain moments — like Samhain — represented passages in which the usual order was briefly suspended, making room for a world more open to mystery.

Perhaps that is why so many stories arose around this night about spirits, about fairies, about beings who could cross the boundary between worlds or about people who, for a single night, could glimpse beyond what is visible.

Centuries later, with the spread of Christianity, many Samhain traditions intertwined with All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day.

And in modern popular culture, some of them contributed to the celebration we now know as Halloween.

But beyond masks and pumpkins, the old idea has remained surprisingly alive.

People have always felt the need for a time dedicated to those who are no longer here. A time in which the past is invited back to the table.

Perhaps this is the true meaning of Samhain. Not that spirits might come among us. But that, at least once a year, we choose not to live as if we had appeared in the world alone. We pause. We remember. And we acknowledge that our life continues a story begun long before us.

Perhaps every culture has such a night. A night in which darkness is not just darkness. But the space where memory, gratitude, and mystery can sit, for a few moments, at the same table.

Three questions for you

Is there a time of year when you feel the connection with those who came before you more intensely?

How do you choose to keep alive the memory of the people who left a mark on your life?

If you were to dedicate one evening each year to gratitude for those who are no longer here, what would that ritual look like?

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Rituals - Practices of presence