From Greek xenia to Japanese omotenashi, through Indian dharma and the ethics of the desert: a journey through myth, culture, and the need to rediscover the soul of the welcoming gesture.
Hospitality is not just service – it is a relationship
There is a deep-seated misunderstanding, often left unspoken, that permeates our modern idea of hospitality: confusing service with hospitality. In the language of the hospitality industry, especially in the West, the word “service” has taken center stage, becoming synonymous with efficiency, speed, and performance. But hospitality — true, deep, ancestral hospitality — has never been just that. To host means to open a sacred space, to become the threshold between the known and the unknown, between the self and the other. It is a gesture that, through the centuries, has carried the weight of ritual, responsibility, and presence. It was never just about feeding, quenching thirst, or offering a bed: it was about welcoming the other as a bearer of meaning, as a sign of destiny, sometimes even as a god.
Today, in a world where hospitality has been reduced to a commercial formula or a design-driven experience, it’s worth asking: have we lost something? What remains of that original tension between host and guest? Is it still possible, amid the chaos of the present, to rediscover the soul of hospitality? This journey begins far away — in myths, legends, ancient civilizations — and returns, with steady steps and a different gaze, to the dining room of a restaurant, to a perfectly ironed tablecloth, to a glass of water poured in silence.
Hospitality in Myth – When the Guest Was a God
Before hospitality became a profession, it was a sacred duty. Every traditional culture codified hospitality as a ritual act and a moral test. The stranger — unknown, unpredictable, often silent — was not just someone to help, but a messenger of fate, a possible god in disguise, or a challenge sent by the gods. To welcome was, above all, an act that defined what it meant to be human.
Greece – Xenia, Hospitality as Divine Law
In ancient Greece, hospitality was protected by Zeus Xenios, the guardian of strangers. Xenia was not a matter of kindness but a sacred bond: the host had the duty to welcome, feed, and protect the traveler, and the traveler, in turn, had to respect the home that received him. The guest, as such, was inviolable. To refuse, offend, or mistreat him was a violation of cosmic order. The Odyssey is a long meditation on the theme of hospitality: every stop along Odysseus’ journey tests the men he meets. The Phaeacians receive him with honors and gifts; Circe challenges him but then hosts him; the suitors, instead, abuse Penelope’s hospitality, and for this, they are punished. The hero himself, wherever he goes, is judged by his ability to honor the code of xenia. To welcome means to recognize the other, even in their difference, as part of a world ordered by the gods.
India – Atithi Devo Bhava: The Guest as a Manifestation of the Divine
In Hinduism, the Vedic tradition teaches that Atithi Devo Bhava — “the guest is God.” The word atithi means “without a fixed date,” referring to one who arrives unexpectedly. Welcoming such a person is part of the dharma, the moral law that governs each individual’s life. In epic stories like the Mahabharata, the one who hosts generously performs an act that carries karmic consequences. The wanderer, the beggar, the pilgrim — even if poor — is charged with spiritual potential. Even today, in many Indian homes, a place is kept at the table for an unexpected guest — not out of courtesy, but because the encounter may be sacred.
China – The Art of Hospitality as Balance and Respect
In traditional Chinese culture, hospitality is deeply tied to the principles of li (ritual) and he (harmony). To welcome a guest means to create an ordered, harmonious space, where everyone has their proper role. It is not merely an act of generosity, but a way to preserve the balance of the social and spiritual universe. In Confucianism, to host with decorum and measure is a moral duty. During banquets, every detail — from the placement of guests to the dishes served, to the toasts — is governed by a code that reflects the order of the world. The host, according to Confucian tradition, shows respect not only to the guest, but to the entire social and cosmic order that governs human coexistence. In this system, the act of welcoming the other is also a way of honoring Heaven (Tian) — the higher principle that ensures order, harmony, and justice in the world.
Middle East – The Desert as a School of Hospitality
In the Arab and Semitic world, hospitality is born from the desert, where life is harsh and an encounter with the other can mean survival. The guest was welcomed for three days without questions — only after that could one ask who they were, where they came from, and what they were seeking. To share bread and salt meant to create an unbreakable bond. To betray a guest with whom one has eaten remains, even today, one of the most dishonorable acts imaginable. In this context, hospitality is both justice and mercy, fused into a single gesture.
Africa – The Guest Is the Community
In many African cultures, hospitality is a collective act, not a private one. It is not the house that hosts, but the village. The stranger is seen as a bridge between the inside and the outside, and welcoming them is a gesture that renews the community itself. The guest is sacred because they bring stories, knowledge, spirits, and change. As the Bantu proverbs say: “He who does not welcome the guest closes the door to fortune.” Food is shared with ease, even when little is available. To welcome does not impoverish — it enriches the web of relationships that give life its meaning.
Japan – Omotenashi: Invisible Attention
In Japan, omotenashi is the art of silent and total hospitality. One anticipates the guest’s desires — without asking, without showing. Every detail is attended to, not out of formality, but out of respect: the other is sacred in their presence and deserves complete attention. In the tea ceremony, in the traditional ryokan, in the waiter’s posture, a unique way of hosting is expressed: discreet, contained, yet full of meaning. Here, service is not subordination, but clear and dignified presence.
In all these cultures, to welcome is a gesture that transforms the one who performs it.
To host means to suspend judgment, to open a space of encounter, to recognize the other as part of the same humanity, or even as its divine revelation. In today’s world — where hospitality often means nothing more than “paying for a service” — returning to these original stories may help us reconnect with the deep meaning of our craft and our humanity.
East and West: Two Visions of Service
If myth gave hospitality its sacred breath, modernity brought it back down to earth. But the ways in which different cultures have interpreted this “return” vary greatly.
Service in the West – Professionalism and Distance
With the Industrial Revolution and urbanization, hospitality underwent a significant transformation. From a spontaneous gesture and moral duty, it became a structured profession, with defined roles and specific skills. The rise of modern hotels and bourgeois dining marked the beginning of an era in which hosting was no longer simply an act of generosity, but a recognized and regulated craft. This evolution led to the creation of service standards, the training of qualified personnel, and the recognition of hospitality as a key economic sector. However, in the process, some elements of traditional hospitality — such as personalization and human warmth — may have been pushed aside. Today, rediscovering the balance between professionalism and humanity represents both a challenge and an opportunity for the industry.
Service in the East – Presence and Ritual
In many Eastern cultures, by contrast, service remains an expression of presence. Whether it’s a ryokan in Japan, a teahouse in Chengdu, or a guesthouse in a village in Kerala, the act of welcoming still retains something ritualistic. The gesture matters as much as the result. Focus is placed on the how, not just the what. The guest is not simply “served” but brought into a relational space: their mood is observed, their need sensed, their desire anticipated. Service becomes a form of listening, a subtle and often silent language.
Two Philosophies, Two Worlds
This is not just about aesthetics, but about worldviews. The West tends to separate those who serve from those who are served, codifying the roles. The East, at least in its deeper expression, seeks to transform service into relationship, recognizing in each daily gesture a possibility for harmony. Of course, standardized service exists in Asia too — fast food, international hotel chains. But beneath the commercial surface, a more ancient and poetic form of hospitality endures, one that sees each guest as a story to be honored, not merely an order to be fulfilled.
The Table as Altar – Rediscovering Hospitality as Gesture
There is a moment when hospitality takes shape: when we sit at the table. It is there — in the small space between a plate and a glass, between a hand that serves and one that receives — that the essence of hospitality is revealed. Once, the table was not merely a place of consumption: it was a domestic altar. Around it, decisions were made, rituals performed, and strangers and relatives were welcomed as manifestations of the divine. The table setting was not decoration, but ritual preparation: the tablecloth as vestment, the cutlery as sacred tools, the act of pouring as a gesture of trust.
The Disappearance of Tablecloths – A Symptom of a Deeper Loss
In recent decades, in the name of modernity, speed, and design, we’ve witnessed the gradual disappearance of elements that once represented care for the guest: no more tablecloths, no more bread on the table, no more attention to the other’s pace. Service has become minimalist, streamlined, efficient — but also sterile, impersonal, and often cold. The table has become a surface, not a place. The waiter — or whoever takes their role — has become a technical operator, rather than a relational figure. Time, once an ally, has become an enemy: we eat “to be done,” we serve “to get through,” we set the table “for function.”
Rediscovering the Gesture – Slowness, Presence, Listening
But something is shifting. More and more people — both guests and professionals — feel the need to return to a hospitality made of gestures. Because in the noise of the world, we need spaces where every action is intentional, every presence meaningful. The return of tablecloths, table service, explaining the dish, and attention to detail is not just a matter of style.
It’s a statement of intent. A way of saying: “You are here. I am with you. This moment matters.”
Ritual as a Form of Freedom
We live in a fragmented time. Our days are broken up by notifications, interruptions, and back-to-back appointments. We move from one experience to another breathlessly, never truly pausing.
In this context, to sit at the table — with calm, attention, respect — is a countercultural act. To ritualize a meal is not about returning to the formalism of the past, but about recognizing that certain gestures deserve to be fully inhabited. To honor another’s presence, to care for a space, to offer time as a gift, means to create an island of meaning in a sea of distraction. In an age where speed is the ultimate value, slowness becomes a form of freedom. And hospitality, in its highest form, is precisely this: a suspended time, an invitation to slow down, to listen, to be present. A soft act of resistance, yes — but also an act of love.
Returning to the Heart of Hospitality
Hospitality is not a luxury, nor merely an economic sector. It is a way of being present, a way of inhabiting the world. But precisely because it is a craft that demands attention, empathy, and deep listening, it must be recognized as a high-responsibility profession — not just with words, but with respect, training, and fair compensation. In an era that rewards speed, optimization, and efficiency, rediscovering hospitality as a meaningful human gesture, capable of creating real value for both giver and receiver, is one of the most radical acts we can perform. It’s not about self-sacrifice, nor about serving with monastic humility. On the contrary, it’s about reclaiming service as an art, a culture, a craft worthy of respect. Because hospitality, when it’s authentic, is not just “serving”: it is building relationships, giving shape to the invisible, creating moments that stay with those who live them. And it is precisely in that conscious, cared-for, professional gesture that we find — now more than ever — a new form of dignity, beauty, and freedom.
To welcome means to recognize the other, not just to serve them. It means to stop time, to create a space of pause, listening, and care. Whether it’s a restaurant table, a hotel room, or a simple cup of tea offered at home, true hospitality is not measured in stars or awards, but in the ability to make the other feel expected and seen. Returning to the tablecloth, the slow gesture, the genuine smile, is not a nostalgic act. It’s a way to stay human. Because hospitality, when authentic, is not just service: it’s a form of art, a form of philosophy, perhaps even a form of love. And so, now more than ever, it is worth remembering: To serve has never been a lesser act. It is, in fact, one of the highest forms of human connection.