The Question of Halloween

How do you celebrate Halloween? Do you go all out with decorations, parties, and costumes? Or do you worry that the holiday is a slippery slope toward the occult?

For me, Halloween is a season of fun and community. I decorate my home the way I would for Christmas or the Fourth of July. Neighbors gather, and we share food, drinks, and conversation. I often set up a movie projector in the driveway or garage, playing something light-hearted like Hotel Transylvania or Young Frankenstein—films that delight kids without frightening them. Trick-or-treaters come and go, candy is handed out, and laughter echoes through the evening. Across the street, some neighbors transform their garages into haunted houses, while others craft elaborate front-yard displays that rival theme parks. In my experience, it’s a neighborhood celebration—one of the few times of year when nearly every household has its door open to strangers.

And yet, in the back of many minds (especially among more conservative religious circles), lingers a suspicion: Is this innocent fun, or are we dabbling in something darker? I grew up with those questions whispered in classrooms and pulpits. For some, Halloween has long been framed not as play but as peril—a supposed gateway to occult practice.

The way we interpret Halloween hinges on which “alternative” we see most clearly. Do we view it as a community ritual of hospitality and joy, or as an echo of ancient practices with hidden dangers? This post is about exploring those alternatives and asking: what does Halloween actually mean today?

Fear and Folklore: From Pagan Roots to Pop Culture

Halloween has always carried a certain mystique. If you trace it back far enough, you’ll find its distant ancestor in the Celtic festival of Samhain, where bonfires were lit and people wore costumes to ward off wandering spirits. Medieval Christianity added All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day to the calendar, and over centuries folk practices blended with religious ones.

But here’s the problem: people often assume that because Halloween originated in those contexts, it must still mean the same thing today. This is a classic fallacy of origin—confusing where something began with what it signifies now. To say that Halloween remains pagan because it once had pagan associations is like saying we worship Cupid every time we exchange valentines, or that buying a Christmas tree makes us druids. Origins are not destiny.

If you want proof of just how much Halloween has changed, watch the Judy Garland classic Meet Me in St. Louis. In that early-1900s setting, Halloween looks nothing like today’s candy-driven event. Children burn furniture in bonfires, run through the streets daring each other to frighten neighbors, and perform what we might call “fear tests” to prove their bravery. Compare that to today, where kids dress up as superheroes, princesses, or cartoon characters, and ring doorbells for miniature Snickers bars.

The gulf between then and now is vast. Today’s Halloween is a commercial holiday, built by candy companies, costume shops, and big-box retailers. It’s less about ancient ritual than about seasonal fun, a chance to play make-believe in public.

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” – William Faulkner

Faulkner reminds us that history does echo into the present. But echoes are not identities. What Halloween once was does not determine what it is today.

The Christian Panic: From Dungeons & Dragons to Harry Potter

If you grew up in the 1970s or 1980s, you might remember how Halloween got caught up in a wave of religious suspicion. Conservative voices—especially in fundamentalist and evangelical circles—warned that jack-o’-lanterns, costumes, or even trick-or-treating were gateways to occult practice. This era also gave us the “Satanic Panic,” when everything from heavy metal music to Saturday morning cartoons was accused of recruiting kids into witchcraft.

Nowhere was this clearer than in the uproar over Dungeons & Dragons. Friends of mine weren’t allowed to play it because their parents were told it would lead to demon-summoning. My parents were uneasy too, but they didn’t ban it. I played D&D with friends in the neighborhood, and while we rolled dice, fought dragons, and imagined new worlds, none of us were drawn into Wicca, Satanism, or occult practice. Ironically, the only kid I knew who ever tried a séance never played D&D at all.

Fast forward a decade, and Harry Potter took its turn in the cultural crosshairs. Evangelical critics accused J.K. Rowling’s books of glamorizing witchcraft. Yet scholars who study religion and literature are clear: Rowling’s “magic” is no more Wiccan than Tolkien’s elves or Lewis’s wardrobe. These are fictional worlds, modern mythologies that use the language of enchantment to tell stories of courage, sacrifice, and good triumphing over evil.

And here’s the irony: many of the fiercest critics of Halloween or fantasy are the same churches that celebrated Star Wars. When A New Hope premiered on network television in the early 1980s, I remember church services ending early so families could rush home to watch. The Force, after all, is just “wizards in space.” But while lightsabers were welcomed, witches and wizards in pointy hats were condemned. A double standard if there ever was one.

Fantasy and myth are not doorways to the demonic. They are part of humanity’s long-standing quest to grapple with truth through imagination. To confuse imaginative play with occult initiation is not discernment—it is fear.

What Really Drives the Rise of Wicca and Paganism?

Critics often point to the rise of Wicca and Paganism in the United States as proof that Halloween, fantasy games, or Harry Potter must be influencing young people to join the occult. But this is a textbook example of the post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy: “after this, therefore because of this.” Just because two things happen in sequence doesn’t mean one caused the other.

Yes, Wicca has grown. Surveys estimate that witches and pagans now outnumber Presbyterians in the U.S. But linking that growth directly to Halloween costumes or role-playing games ignores deeper cultural currents. Scholars and sociologists highlight several more convincing factors:

Spiritual Individualism & Postmodernism

Wicca appeals to those disillusioned with rigid institutions. It offers spirituality without hierarchy, where each practitioner can adapt rituals to personal meaning.

Feminist & Ecological Spirituality

The divine feminine and reverence for nature resonate with feminist and environmental movements. Rituals often celebrate seasonal cycles and ecological awareness.

Rejection of Traditional Christianity

Many Millennials and Gen Z left churches that felt more political than pastoral. Wicca reframes witchcraft as a pre-Christian wisdom tradition rather than anything satanic.

The “Witch Aesthetic” in Pop Culture

Social media has glamorized crystals, tarot cards, and astrology. TikTok and Instagram make witchcraft visually appealing, especially for younger audiences seeking identity.

Digital Community & Accessibility

The internet has allowed solitary practitioners to connect globally, share rituals, and learn without formal initiation.

Halloween may normalize occult imagery—just as Christmas normalizes Santa Claus—but imagery isn’t initiation. Dressing as a witch on October 31 doesn’t make you one any more than dressing as a Jedi makes you a disciple of the Force.

“Correlation does not imply causation.”

If anything, the rise of Wicca has far more to do with cultural disillusionment with Christianity’s anti-intellectualism and politicization than with pumpkins on porches. Halloween is, at most, a backdrop—not a cause.

The Community Dimension

One of the most overlooked aspects of Halloween is its communal character. For one night, doors are open, lights are on, and neighbors actually interact. Children roam the streets in costume, parents linger at sidewalks, and people who might not otherwise cross paths share a smile and a handful of candy. In a society where loneliness is epidemic, Halloween creates a rare moment of connection.

Contrast that with the “Trunk-or-Treat” movement. Churches, worried about occult themes or safety, invite families to gather in a parking lot. Cars line up, trunks decorated, candy distributed in controlled conditions. I tried it once. It was fun enough, but I realized something important: it kept us with each other, but not with our neighbors. Christians were together, but the wider community was absent.

Hospitality means showing up where people are, not retreating into our own enclaves. If the point is to bear witness to love and generosity, what better way than to hand out treats on your porch, greeting strangers with warmth? That’s the kind of presence people remember.

The irony, of course, is that the “no witches, no vampires” rule at trunk-or-treat events often misses the point. A witch costume is not an endorsement of Wicca any more than dressing as a stormtrooper makes you loyal to the Empire. Costumes are caricatures, exaggerations, or pure imagination. Banning them only feeds unnecessary fear.

Healthy communities thrive on connection, compassion, and even humor. Fear-driven isolation, on the other hand, cuts us off from the very people we are called to love. Halloween, when embraced in the right spirit, is an opportunity not for compromise but for connection.

Theological Reflection: Fear, Imagination, and Redeeming Myth

One of the deepest misunderstandings about Halloween—and about fantasy in general—is the fear that imagination itself is dangerous. Yet myth and story have always been tools for exploring truth. J.R.R. Tolkien called myth “a splintered fragment of the true light,” and C.S. Lewis believed stories could baptize the imagination, preparing hearts to receive deeper truths. When children dress as wizards, superheroes, or skeletons, they are not pledging allegiance to the occult; they are entering the great human tradition of storytelling.

And yet, some Christians treat fantasy with suspicion, as if imagination were a backdoor for evil. The irony is that many of these same voices enthusiastically embrace Star Wars—a saga literally about wizards in space. We are quick to bless lightsabers but ban broomsticks. That is not discernment; it is inconsistency.

Some Christians argue that celebrating Halloween—or even wearing a witch costume—might cause a “weaker brother” to stumble, citing Romans 14. But that is a misapplication of the text. Paul’s counsel was never meant to give legalists veto power over everyone else’s freedom. The principle is about love, not fear. If you know a particular Christian who struggles with the holiday, then don’t pressure them to participate—just as you wouldn’t drink alcohol in front of a recovering alcoholic. But outside their presence, you are free to enjoy it without guilt. That is maturity: discerning when to defer out of love for an individual, while refusing to let fear and scruples harden into universal rules.

Discernment requires critical thinking. To claim that pumpkins or costumes are inherently dangerous is to confuse absence of evidence with evidence of danger. As philosophers remind us, that leap is unwarranted. A child carrying a plastic scythe is not evidence of creeping paganism; it is evidence of a trip to Party City.

The real danger is not that Christians will be seduced by jack-o’-lanterns, but that we will be so consumed by fear that we retreat from our neighbors. When that happens, we abandon imagination to the marketplace and community to those willing to open their doors.

“It is not the things themselves that disturb us, but the opinions we have about them.” – Epictetus

Halloween is not about surrendering to darkness. It is about redeeming a night with joy, creativity, and generosity. To participate is not to compromise; it is to practice hospitality. To hand out candy is to extend kindness. To dress in costume is to play in the great sandbox of myth and imagination. And perhaps, to laugh together in the night is its own kind of spiritual warfare—because laughter breaks the power of fear.

Reclaiming the Night

At the end of the day, Halloween is not a gateway to the occult. It is not an initiation rite, nor is it a hidden path to Wicca. It is a cultural holiday shaped by candy companies, costume shops, and the joy of children playing dress-up. Like Valentine’s Day, its origins may be tangled, but its modern meaning is rooted in fun, community, and imagination.

If Christians retreat from Halloween out of fear, we lose a chance to be present with our neighbors. The porch light, far from signaling danger, can become a small beacon of welcome. A bowl of candy can be a gesture of generosity. A silly costume can be an act of playfulness that reminds us we are human, made for joy as well as for reverence.

The challenge, then, is not to avoid the holiday but to redeem it—to bring love, laughter, and hospitality into a night that some miscast as darkness. Fear does not need to rule our imagination. Courage, kindness, and creativity can.

“Do not be afraid of shadows. They simply mean there is a light shining nearby.” –  Something I would think Tolkien would say

So this Halloween, carve the pumpkin, put on a costume, and switch on the light. Not because you are celebrating ancient spirits, but because you are celebrating something far greater: the gift of community, the joy of imagination, and the quiet triumph of good over fear.

Excerpt

Halloween is often seen as playful fun—or feared as occult danger. This post explores myths, misconceptions, and cultural shifts, showing why the holiday today is more about imagination, community, and hospitality than darkness or fear.

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