These Festivals

From ancient times to the present, cultures worldwide have celebrated the sun’s return following the winter solstice. In this episode, I bring you the story of the midwinter celebrations of ancient Rome, from Saturnalia to Sol Invictus and beyond.

Researched, written, and produced by Corinne Wieben with original music by Purple Planet.

Episode sources

Chapters

• 0:00 Pre-roll
• 0:08 Intro
• 3:02 Io Saturnalia
• 11:30 Sol Invictus
• 16:42 Conclusion
• 19:51 Outro

Transcript

Pre-roll
You’re listening to Enchanted, a podcast on the history of magic, sorcery and witchcraft. I’m Corinne Wieben.

Intro
Each year, humanity watches as daylight lengthens from the spring equinox, the day when the hours of daylight and darkness are equal, to the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. From that moment on, the days grow progressively shorter until the year sees its longest night: the winter solstice. In at least one Jewish tradition, Adam, the first human, is credited with first recognizing the disappearance of the sun and celebrating its return. One rabbinic commentary states:

When Adam the first man saw that the day was progressively diminishing, as the days become shorter from the autumnal equinox until the winter solstice, he did not yet know that this is a normal phenomenon, and therefore he said: “Woe is me; perhaps because I sinned the world is becoming dark around me and will ultimately return to the primordial state of chaos and disorder. And this is the death that was sentenced upon me from Heaven, as it is written: ‘And to dust shall you return.’” He arose and spent eight days in fasting and in prayer. Once he saw that… the winter solstice, had arrived, and saw that the day was progressively lengthening after the solstice, he said: “Clearly, the days become shorter and then longer, and this is the order of the world.” He went and observed a festival for eight days. Upon the next year, he observed both these eight days on which he had fasted on the previous year, and these eight days of his celebration, as days of festivities. He, Adam, established these festivals for the sake of Heaven, but they, the gentiles of later generations, established them for the sake of idol worship.

The ancient world, in fact, had no shortage of festivals to mark the winter solstice and the return of the sun. The creators of Neolithic sites like Ireland’s Newgrange and England’s Stonehenge and later structures, like the Cahokia Woodhenge in what is now the United States and Ahu Tongariki on Easter Island, all focused their structures to coincide with the sun’s path on the winter solstice. From ancient times to the present, cultures worldwide have celebrated the sun’s return. In this episode, I bring you the story of the midwinter celebrations of ancient Rome, from Saturnalia to Sol Invictus and beyond.

Io Saturnalia
When the rabbi grouses about the idolatrous celebration of the winter solstice, he’s referring to the ancient Roman holiday of Saturnalia. Saturnialia was traditionally held on December 17 of the Julian calendar, but festivities could last up to a week. The festival in honor of the god Saturn involved temple sacrifices and a public banquet, after which celebrants would exchange gifts and party. The central theme of the celebrations was a reversal of the social order to create a kind of topsy-turvy carnival atmosphere. Masters ate with their slaves at table, gambling was temporarily permitted, and participants would elect a “king” to preside over the celebrations, whose every order must be followed.

The Saturnalia encapsulates the dual nature of the god Saturn himself, embodying both joyous liberation and an undercurrent of unease. Saturn, as a deity of agricultural abundance, symbolized prosperity and wealth. Roman tradition held Saturn as the original ruler of the Capitolium and the first king of Latium, the kingdom that preceded Rome, and some claimed his dominion extended over all of Italy. Yet another narrative cast Saturn as a foreign deity, received by Janus after being overthrown and exiled from Greece by his son, Jupiter. These contrasting accounts—Saturn as both native and immigrant, as a god of liberation and yet one confined for most of the year—highlight his paradoxical nature. Ultimately, Saturn’s identity, like the Saturnalia itself, transcended distinctions, dissolving boundaries and subverting hierarchies in both myth and celebration.

Saturnalia was a festival defined by the temporary relaxation of strict Roman hierarchies and its playful subversion of societal norms. Central to this was the practice of role-reversal, particularly between masters and slaves. Slaves were honored with a banquet akin to those typically reserved for their masters. Ancient accounts vary on how this unfolded: some describe slaves and masters dining together, while others suggest slaves feasted first, or that masters themselves served the meal. These variations may reflect differences in practice across time and place. A hallmark of Saturnalian festivities was the permission granted to slaves to speak freely and even mock their masters without fear of reprisal. Despite this temporary leveling of social hierarchies, everyone understood the boundaries: Saturnalia had a finite duration, and the normal social order would soon resume unchallenged.

The spirit of revelry also extended to clothing. Roman citizens set aside the toga, their traditional garment, in favor of the Greek synthesis—vibrantly colored outfits normally deemed inappropriate for the somber Roman elite. The pilleus, a cone-shaped cap typically worn by freedmen, became a universal accessory during Saturnalia, symbolizing the temporary erasure of distinctions between free citizens and slaves. Role-playing was intrinsic to Saturnalia’s spirit of inversion, and some sources hint at the use of masks or costumes during the festivities.

 While the celebration of Saturnalia transcended provincial borders, its reception and observation among the Roman elite was mixed. The Roman philosopher and playwright Seneca, with a tone of cautious anticipation, described his thoughts on Saturnalia in a letter to a friend, writing:  

It is now the month of December, when the greatest part of the city is in a bustle. Loose reins are given to public dissipation; everywhere you may hear the sound of great preparations, as if there were some real difference between the days devoted to Saturn and those for transacting business... Were you here, I would willingly confer with you as to the plan of our conduct; whether we should live in our usual way, or, to avoid singularity, both take a better supper and throw off the toga.

While many Romans embraced the festivities, others found the exuberance overwhelming. Pliny the Younger, revealed his strategy for navigating the holiday chaos, writing, “When I betake myself into this sitting-room, I seem to be quite away even from my villa, and I find it delightful to sit there, especially during the Saturnalia, when all the rest of the house rings with the merriment and shouts of the festival-makers; for then I do not interfere with their amusements, and they do not distract me from my studies.”

In addition to the festival celebrations, the Sigillaria, celebrated on December 19, was a day dedicated to exchanging gifts. True to the egalitarian spirit of Saturnalia, these gifts were often modest in nature, avoiding displays of wealth that could undermine the festival’s emphasis on social equality. Children received toys, while common offerings for adults included pottery or wax figurines—known as sigillaria—which were crafted specifically for the occasion, as well as candles or humorous gag gifts, which Caesar Augustus himself reportedly enjoyed. The poet Martial, in his verses about Saturnalia, provides a vivid catalog of gifts exchanged during the season, ranging from the extravagant to the whimsical: writing tablets, dice, combs, toothpicks, hats, hunting knives, lamps, perfumes, pipes, clothing, masks, books, and even pets. Some presents reflected considerable expense, but Martial suggests that simple, thoughtful gifts were often more meaningful.

Verses often accompanied these gifts, functioning much like modern greeting cards. Martial himself composed poems intended to be attached to presents, and in one memorable example, the famed poet Catullus received a book of terrible poetry as a joke from a friend. As Catullus writes:

If I did not love you more than my eyes, most delightful Calvus, for your gift I should hate you with Vatinian hatred. For what have I done or what have I said that you should torment me so vilely with these poets? … Great gods, what a horrible and accursed book which—if you please!—you have sent to your Catullus, that he might die of boredom the livelong day in the Saturnalia, choicest of days! No, no, my joker, you will not get off so easily: for at dawn I will haste to the booksellers’ cases; the Caesii, the Aquini, Suffenus, every poisonous rubbish will I collect that I may repay you with these tortures. Meantime farewell! be gone from here, where an ill foot brought you, pests of the period, most wretched of poets.

For some, like Seneca, the holiday posed a dilemma between maintaining routine and indulging in tradition. For others, like Pliny, it was an opportunity to withdraw from the chaos and carve out a peaceful refuge amid the revelry. For Martial, it was a chance to demonstrate esteem for one’s friends through the medium of thoughtful gifts. While for Catullus, it was an opportunity to groan good-naturedly about the unreadable poetry of his rivals.

Sol Invictus
A few centuries later, a new festival honoring the sun’s return would emerge: the Day of Sol Invictus. Sol Invictus, meaning teh “unconquered” or “invincible” sun, emerged as the official sun god of the late Roman Empire when his worship was revived and elevated by Emperor Aurelian, who positioned the deity as the chief god of the Roman state in the late third century CE. Under Aurelian’s influence, Sol Invictus became a prominent figure in imperial propaganda, frequently depicted on coins with a radiant crown and driving a chariot across the sky. Sol, like many sun gods, was a god of death and rebirth. Perhaps because of this, his cult became particularly popular among the Roman legions, who believed that, just as the sun dies and is reborn at the winter solstice, they, too, might enjoy rebirth and resurrection after falling on the battlefield.

Modern scholarship on Sol Invictus is divided between two main perspectives: the traditionalist view and a more recent revisionist interpretation. Traditionalists assert that Sol Invictus was the second of two distinct Roman sun gods. The earlier deity, Sol Indiges, was a minor figure in Roman religion whose worship had largely disappeared by the first century. Sol Invictus, by contrast, was believed to be a Syrian sun god introduced to Rome by Emperor Elagabalus, though his efforts to establish the cult failed. It was Aurelian who, some fifty years later, successfully institutionalized the worship of Sol Invictus as a state religion. Revisionist scholars, however, argue for a single, continuous cult of Sol in Rome, dating back to the monarchy and enduring throughout antiquity. According to this view, the worship of Sol—whether under the name Sol Indiges or Sol Invictus—remained an unbroken tradition, evolving to meet the needs of the Roman state. Evidence for this continuity includes the presence of at least three temples dedicated to Sol in Rome, all of which were active during the Imperial period and trace their origins to the Republican era.

It’s no surprise that it was Aurelian who cemented the place of Sol Invictus in the late Empire. His lineage, the Roman gens Aurelia was closely linked to the cult of Sol, a connection that Emperor Aurelian amplified following a series of military victories. Aurelian undertook sweeping reforms of Sol’s worship, elevating the sun god to one of the most prominent deities of the Roman Empire. Prior to these changes, priests of Sol were typically of lower social standing. Aurelian, however, transformed the priesthood, establishing a new college of priests that restricted membership to the senatorial elite, signifying the heightened prestige of Sol’s cult. In addition to reorganizing the priesthood, Aurelian constructed a grand temple for Sol, which he dedicated on December 25, 274. He also inaugurated quadrennial games in Sol’s honor, further embedding the sun god’s cult into the fabric of Roman public life. Aurelian’s reforms reflect both a political strategy and a theological ambition, consolidating the sun god’s role as a unifying force within the diverse religious landscape of the Roman Empire.

By the fourth century, the prominence of Sol Invictus began to wane with the rise of Christianity, particularly after Emperor Constantine I legalized the Christian faith and began curtailing pagan practices. However, devotion to Sol Invictus persisted, with inscriptions referencing the deity as late as 387. Even into the fifth century, Augustine of Hippo found it necessary to compose a sermon arguing against the lingering influence of sun worship. Rather than eliminate all traces of the worship of Sol Invictus, however, early Christian authorties may have adapted it. Some early Christian texts draw connections between Jesus Christ and the sun, calling him the “Sun of Righteousness” foretold by the prophet Malachi. One fourth-century Christian treatise explicitly links Christ’s birth to the Day of Sol Invictus, writing: “Our Lord, too, is born in the month of December… But [the pagans] call it the ‘Birthday of the Unconquered.’ Who indeed is so unconquered as Our Lord? Or, if they say that it is the birthday of the Sun, [we may say] He is the Sun of Justice.”

Conclusion
The exact date of Jesus’s birth remains unknown. The choice of December 25 has prompted much speculation, particularly regarding its proximity to pagan festivals like Saturnalia and the Day of the Birth of Sol Invictus. It’s possible that the date was selected to provide a Christian alternative to these celebrations or to attract converts by aligning with existing festive traditions. Another theory links the date to theological calculations, positing that Jesus’s death coincided with the anniversary of his conception on March 25, placing his birth nine months later on December 25.

The influence of Saturnalia likewise extended into Christian Europe, where elements of its revelry and role reversals are echoed in traditional Christmas festivities. In the Middle Ages, Christmas, like the ancient Saturnalia, was marked by raucous celebrations: feasting, drinking, gambling, and general excess. The figure of the Saturnalian king found echoes in customs such as the election of a “boy bishop” on December 28, the Feast of the Holy Innocents. This boy would issue playful decrees during his brief reign, a tradition common in France, Switzerland, and other parts of Western Europe. In some regions, clergy participated in role reversals, donning masks or women’s clothing, recalling Saturnalia’s spirit of inversion.  

In England, the late medieval and Renaissance periods saw the rise of the “Lord of Misrule,” who presided over the Christmas revelries. This tradition often included the Twelfth Night or Epiphany celebrations, where a “King of the Bean” was chosen by finding a hidden token in a cake or pudding. After the Protestant Reformation, Protestants began to view such customs as “popish,” and the English Puritans successfully banned the “Lord of Misrule,” and many related traditions. By the mid-19th century, the “Christmas revival” transformed the holiday into a family-centered occasion, spurred by authors like Charles Dickens, who redefined Christmas as a time of moral reflection and goodwill. Elements of Saturnalian tradition, however, continue to resonate. Gift-giving during Christmas mirrors the Roman exchange of sigillaria, while the lighting of Advent candles evokes Saturnalia’s torches and tapers. Both festivals share an enduring association with feasting, drinking, music, and dancing, offering a glimpse of how ancient rituals may have shaped modern holiday traditions.

Outro
If you enjoyed this episode, you can subscribe to Enchanted wherever you listen. This episode was produced by me with original music by Purple Planet. You can find them at purple dash planet dot com. If you want to learn more about winter solstice celebrations in ancient Rome, be sure to check out the sources link in the show notes. Special thanks to Enchanted’s Patreon patrons for supporting the production of this and every episode. If you want to support Enchanted, please visit patreon dot com slash enchantedpodcast. If you’re looking for a way to support the show that won’t cost you anything, you can always give Enchanted: The History of Magic & Witchcraft a five-star rating on Apple Podcasts, Podchaser, Audible, or wherever you listen and recommend it to your friends. You can get in touch with me via email at enchantedpodcast at gmail dot com or follow on Facebook, Instagram, Threads, and now Bluesky at enchantedpodcast. As always, for more information and special features, visit enchantedpodcast dot net. I’m Corinne Wieben. Thank you for listening and stay enchanted.