The Horror! The Horror!

Last night little monsters were howling up and down my street, dressed in their Hallowe’en costumes (except for those kids who figured just having a swag bag was dress-up enough). Behind them were the walking dead — parents with haunted looks who’d bled time and money to indulge their offspring, and were now dutifully shadowing them. Elsewhere in the city, costumed adults were raising hell in bars and house parties (unless, out of expediency, they’d done it the Saturday night before). Across the cableverse scary movies and other gruesome content abounded. Oh, the horror, the horror. I’m not sure what the Hallowe’en equivalent is of a humbug, but I guess I’m it. Even though I’ve never been one to begrudge people having fun, and certainly have myself had loads of enjoyment dressing up for the occasion, nevertheless I do find myself shaking my head at what this unholiday has morphed into. I guess I just fundamentally don’t like rampant hype and commercialization, and there’s now plenty of both on Shalloween.

One of my influences as a writer is Joseph Campbell, the eminent scholar of myth and religion (he saw no difference between the two). Over the years I have enjoyed learning about the roots of mythology, and how our seminal beliefs have evolved into contemporary culture. The older I get, and the longer I spend working with technology, the more I feel the pull of those ancient archetypal human forces and rhythms. (It was Campbell, by the way, who came up with one of favorite computer quotes: “Computers are like Old Testament gods; lots of rules and no mercy.”) Like every cocky adolescent, I too once thought that human civilization began and ended with me and my cutting-edge generation. Now, of course, I know better. Each new generation may lay down a fresh coat of paint, but the basic shape of human existence hasn’t changed in a million years. We’re born, we learn and grow, we come of age, we seek a mate and reproduce, we strive for status and power, we peak and decline, our body betrays us, and we die. End of story.

The roots of Hallowe’en (I stubbornly cling to the interstitial apostrophe to show the contraction of the original Auld English’s All Hallow Even, even though my spell checker nags me for it) come from the fact that ancient civilizations divided up the year into two seasons — the time of light and the time of dark. November 1st traditionally marked the beginning of the dark days. (May 1st, a.k.a. May Day, which has largely fallen out of favor here in North America, marks the beginnng of the light days.) To the ancient Celts, the day was known as Samhain (“Summer’s End”) and was basically the start of the new year. They believed that the border between this world and the Otherworld became thin on Samhain, allowing spirits (both harmless and harmful) to pass through. The family’s ancestors were honored and invited home, while harmful spirits were warded off. Evidently it was the need to ward off harmful spirits that led to the wearing of costumes and masks. As it did with so many pagan holidays, Christianity adapted the date as All-Saint’s Day (and the day after as All Soul’s Day), and the night before evolved into Hallowe’en. (Day of the Dead celebrations in Mexico derive from the same roots.) Candles lit to commemorate the souls of the dead and originally placed in turnips, not pumpkins, have become today’s jack o’ lantern, now an art form in its own right. Each century has added a layer of tradition to this very ancient one. Somewhere around the turn of the twentieth century in (where else) the U.S. full-blown costumes were popularized and commercialized, eventually evolving from purely supernatural figures to include those of popular culture.

In my own case, as an homage to the bigger picture Campbell showed me, and in tribute to to my far-distant ancestors, I celebrate November 1st as a personal holiday commemorating the start of the dark half of the year. As a Canadian I am naturally attuned to this colder, bleaker time of year, but my own celebration is not a funeral rite, or some supernatural plea to the waning sun. It may be about light and dark, but like everything in life, it’s not black and white. Winter in these climes is a harsh fact of life, it’s true, but it brings with it many good things too. For example, I enjoy fireplaces and hockey. Plus, as a writer and a reader, I relish the enhanced opportunity to pursue those indoor activities that the dark days seem to provide.

So, tonight I’m toasting to Parentalia, the Roman festival of the dead … and to the Celtic Samhain … and to the Calan Gaeaf of the old Britons — all once celebrated on this day. Here’s also to all the saints, known and unknown, and to all the dear departed souls. And, what the hell, a belated Happy Hallowe’en to you all too.