Judas
The Troubling History of the Renegade Apostle
by Peter Stanford
A book review
Alas for that man by whom the Son of man is betrayed! Better for that man if he had never been born!' Jesus's words as found in the Gospel of Matthew could hardly be harsher. And Judas Iscariot has certainly suffered from bad press since the days of the early Church, his name held synonymous with the most despicable form of treachery. Yet, it has also become quite fashionable to recast Judas as an anti-hero, a Romantic figure or as a well-meaning, if misguided, disciple.
I remember very well an episode when, as a Catholic teenager well over two decades ago, I had attended a Holy Week ceremony at the local youth parish centre. While one of the two priests leading the event was still hearing confessions prior to the beginning of the ceremony, the other invited us to meditate on the contrasting figures of Peter and Judas – one a sinner who repented and opened his heart to God’s mercy and forgiveness, becoming leader of the Church; the other a betrayer who ended taking his own life in a fit of despair. Peter, rather than the villainous Judas, should be our model. We were soon joined by the second priest, known for his borderline-controversial statements which sometimes cost him reports to the local bishop. Blissfully unaware of what we had just been told (or precisely because he was aware), he warned us not to rush to condemn Judas. The renegade apostle’s final act of desperation showed his honest admission of having done wrong. Having realised the enormity of his betrayal, Judas doubted whether it would ever be forgiven. His tragic end hardly suggested a callous figure but, rather, a conflicted and sensitive character. Peter, the priest seem to suggest, had it easier, much easier. Evidently, even in a small, religiously conservative community, Judas had his advocates.
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| The payment of Judas by Gerhard Seghers |
Whatever your take on this controversial figure, Peter Stanford’s Judas will provide plenty of interesting material to ponder upon. It is nothing less than a cultural history of the figure of the apostle, starting from his portrayal in the Gospels and ending with contemporary literary representations, via the apocryphal gospels, the writings of Early Church Fathers, medieval art and the upheavals of the Renaissance and the Enlightenment. Prior to each chapter there are alphabetical "encyclopaedic" entries defining words, concepts, myths or scraps of folklore associated with Judas.
Peter Stanford is a writer and journalist, a former editor of the Catholic Herald, and a regular contributor to The Tablet, The Sunday Times, The Guardian and The Observer. Knowing where the author is coming from helps to appreciate both the strengths and the weaknesses of this book. What struck me is that it often reads like an extended magazine article. On the plus side, this means that the book is flowing, highly readable and often entertaining. It is also evidently well-researched. That said, there aren't too many references. This is the price to pay for "readability" you might say, but this is not necessarily the case. Among many examples, I would cite a book I had much admired when I read it some years ago: Miracles at the Jesus Oak: Histories of the Supernatural in Reformation Europe. It was really fun despite being an academic text, each chapter supported by pages of notes, references and bibliography.
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| The Taking of Christ by Caravaggio |
Stanford is a practising Catholic and it was good to read a book dealing (at least partly) with Church history written by somebody who clearly has personal knowledge of Catholic doctrine and rituals. This doesn't mean that the book is biased - on the contrary, Stanford is not squeamish about underlining the anti-Semitic link that was often drawn in Christian circles between Judas "the traitor" and the Jewish people. Stanford considers this as one of the seeds of the Shoah. He makes the point that although the Nazis were certainly no Christians, and often found resistance from believers (including Catholics), they exploited a pre-existent streak of anti-Semitism, partly fomented by these 'symbolical' portrayals of Judas. It can make for uncomfortable reading, but it is a story which should be told, "lest we forget".
Whilst generally balanced, Stanford elsewhere succumbs to facile historical prejudices. Thus, he has no problem referring to the 14th century as "the early Renaissance" (although, to me it clearly falls within the "late medieval period") but, in describing the virulent anti-Semitism of the nascent Reformation movement of the 16th century, he refers to it as retaining a "medieval" outlook. It seems that for Stanford "medieval" is a derogatory adjective rather than a historical term. Similarly, the book also propagates the "popular" view of religion being the scourge of science. The depiction in certain religious art of Judas giving birth to a baby at the moment of death (symbolic of the soul leaving his body) is half-jokingly referred to as an indication of the Church's “disregard for scientific correctness”. In a chapter on the Enlightenment, when "the shackles on the late medieval mind were thrown off", Stanford comments that "the skies were surveyed not for angels with harps on clouds in heaven, but for the sun, the stars and the planets", totally disregarding the rich heritage of medieval astronomy.
The Hanging of Judas by Giovanni Canavesio
I enjoyed a section on Elgar's oratorio "The Apostles" but again a certain "liberal Catholic" prejudice creeps in. Stanford correctly points out that Judas has an important role in Elgar's musical work and that the composer opts for a psychological and more "forgiving" interpretation of Judas's motives. He also convincingly argues that Judas's tortured mind could be a symbol of Elgar's grappling with his own religious doubts. Stanford however then adds that in the first decade of the twentieth century, the Catholic Church was at its most reactionary. The 'Modernist Controversy', a Vatican-inspired witch-hunt aimed at those Catholic theologians who were attempting to find common ground between science, philosophy and religion, was making it appear medieval to most onlookers" Now, I am no Elgar expert, but from what I've read about him over the years, my understanding is that most of his religious dilemmas had their roots in the consistent prejudice he faced as an upcoming composer trying to make his mark on a resolutely Protestant (if not anti-Catholic) Establishment. But of course, Stanford can't help making another "medieval" dig.
Despite my reservations,
I enjoyed this book as an erudite history of a beguiling figure.
Unhappy Judas: Stained glass by Harry Clarke
The figure of Judas has inspired composers and musicians over the ages, right up to Lady Gaga who scored a hit with her song “Judas”. I would like to start my playlist of Judas-themed music with a work which gets a lot of attention in Stanford’s book – Edward Elgar’s oratorio The Apostles. Composed in 1903, soon after the successes of the orchestral Enigma Variations (1899) and the oratorio The Dream of Gerontius (1900), the work is based on a libretto written by Elgar himself based on the Scriptures. Rather than concentrating on the narrative, the section named “The Betrayal” is chiefly concerned with the character and motivation of Judas in betraying Jesus.
Until the liturgical reforms of the 1950s and 1960s, one of the more theatrical and dramatic ceremonies of Holy Week was the service of Tenebrae. This involved the singing of psalms at matins and lauds, accompanied by the ritual, gradual extinguishing of candles upon a stand after each psalm, ultimately plunging the church in darkness. The ceremony would end with the strepitus (“great noise”) generally made through the banging of breviaries or stomping on the floor, to symbolise the earthquake which followed Christ’s death. Although the ritual died out, my father, who is now approaching 70, clearly remembers a similar ceremony being held on Holy Wednesday (or “Spy Wednesday”), ending with the banging of chairs on the floor “to scare away Judas”.
The Tenebrae texts have been set to music by many composers since the Renaissance. There are some very well-known versions by Victoria, Palestrina and Charpentier to name but a few, as well as contemporary secular reimaginings, such Osvaldo Golijov’s Tenebrae for string quartet. One of the responsories sung in the Tenebrae ritual is Judas Mercator Pessimus (“Judas the vile merchant”), ironically ensuring that the traitor apostle would be immortalised in some of the most poignant and beautiful music ever written. Here is the setting by Tomas Luis de Victoria (c. 1548-1611):
And here’s a very dramatic version I particularly like, by Catholic convert Edmund Rubbra (1901 – 1986):
While preparing this blogpost, I also came across a more recent setting of Judas Mercator pessimus by Richard Toensing (1940 – 2014). Written for choir, double bass, piano and metallic percussion, the work captures well the ritualistic aspects of Tenebrae, the choral declamations accompanied by the subtle sounds of bells and chimes
Earlier on I mentioned Lady Gaga’s take on Judas. Her song, however, was hardly the first time that the apostle featured in a popular song. Among the 300 or so folksongs and ballads from England and Scotland collected by scholar Francis James Child in the 19th Century (and commonly referred to as the “Child Ballads”), number 23 is dedicated to Judas. It dates to the 13th Century and is one of the oldest surviving English ballads. As is typical of medieval folksongs on biblical and religious subjects, the ballad takes a dark, quirky – and scripturally dubious – take on its subject. It speaks of Christ giving Judas 30 pieces of silver to buy food for the Apostles. On his way to the nearest 1st century Tesco, Judas is waylaid by his sister who steals the money. Not wanting to confess this, he decides to sell Jesus to Pilate for the stolen sum, saving the apostles’ dinner plans. The ballad is unusual in casting Judas himself as a victim (in a sexist touch, a woman to boot), in portraying him as very unwilling to betray his Master and in showing Judas ultimately selling Jesus to Pilate (rather than the High Priests), although Pilate is wrongly described as a “rich Jew”. Here is a contemporary interpretation of the ballad by Daniel J Townsend from his album Iscariot.
One of most famous “pop culture” works to address the tortured figure of Judas is the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar, an Andrew Lloyd Webber/Tim Rice collaboration from 1970, later made into a film by Norman Jewison. Lloyd Webber would go on to write several wannabe-operatic musicals, but Jesus Christ Superstar remains my favourite. It is marked by the audacity of youth (its creators were in their 20s when they wrote it). Thematically it shows Jesus as a charismatic man with a God complex, crushed under the expectations of his zealous followers, with Judas emerging as a tragic anti-hero. Tim Rice has a field-day with witty, punning dialogue, whilst musically Lloyd Webber throws the kitchen sink at us: from soft-rock with irregular Bartókian rhythms, to distorted guitar solos a la Hendrix, from experimental avant-garde spectralism in the mould of Ligeti and Penderecki to pompous bitonal marches reminiscent of Prokofiev and Shostakovich. It all ends with a moving string elegy to the man who just may have been the Son of God. From the 1996 revival of this rock opera here is Judas explaining his motivations in Heaven on their Minds:
Although Jesus Christ Superstar has aged surprisingly well, it is also a work very much of its time, a period of religious questioning in the wake of the upheavals of the 60s and crossover experimentation in the musical field. Certainly lesser known than Lloyd Webber’s work, but of the same ilk, is a concept album by Italian prog-rock group Latte e Miele, rather high-soundingly named Passio Secundum Matthaeum (1972) – a rock setting of the Passion according to St Matthew. Over-the-top moments include choral passages accompanied by electric guitars and percussion, and a mighty church organ solo portraying the ascent to the Golgotha. From the expanded 2014 recording here is Getsemani, which shows the moment of betrayal.
If, in Jesus Christ Superstar, Judas was a supporting actor (albeit a very important one), he got his own oratorio courtesy of Baroque composer Francis Xavier Brixi (1732 – 1771). Judas Ischariotes, an “oratorio for the Holy Feast of Good Friday” dates from the 1760s when the composer was at the height of his career. Here’s the finale:
This playlist has,
understandably, included many vocal and choral tracks. So I’d
like to end this with an orchestral work by American composer Christopher Rouse
(1949 – 2019). Iscariot was
completed in 1989, and the composer admitted it was inspired by the apostle. Although, it does not follow a specific “programme”,
the contrast between chorale-like string passages and violent outbursts provide
a sense of musical structure and ritual.
This musical selection has also ended up being much longer than I originally envisaged. So, I’ve turned it into a Spotify playlist – an hour or so of music inspired by Judas Iscariot including some extra tracks. I hope you'll give it a listen...
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