Reputation & Redemption

Reputation is something of a moveable feast, as any modern media commentator would tell you. Although Oscar Wilde famously sniped that all publicity is good publicity, the enduring exception to that rule has always been the figure of Judas Iscariot – the patron saint of betrayal. Lo and behold, this week the newly-deciphered Gospel of Judas has been authenticated and our favourite hate-figure is in for a radical reinvention. It appears that far from selling out Jesus for some low-grade silver, Judas actually took instruction from Christ himself, who told him “Your star’s brilliance will eclipse all of them. You will be greater than them all. You will sacrifice the man that clothes me. You will lead the way.” Clearly, the Messiah was a powerful persuader, but a poor prophet of reputation. Judas may have had to wait a couple of thousand years for some spin doctors with better skills, but he’s finally getting an image makeover.

Whether you believe the gospel stories are truth or see them as metaphor, what is fascinating is the appearance of this radical new angle on ‘the greatest story ever told’ at this particular juncture in history. Our myths and archetypal stories, like reputation, are constantly in flux, reflecting back to us how we perceive the world. At a time of enormous conflict, when - as a society - we are struggling to deal with the impact of modern terrorism, we are in desperate need of stories of redemption and forgiveness, full of meaning and purpose. That this revised story arises now shows how strongly these issues are taking hold in public consciousness.
A metaphysical reinterpretation of this newly updated tale would portray Judas as fulfilling the role of scapegoat, martyring himself to allow a divinely-ordained course of events to take place so that Jesus could fulfil his destiny. As Jesus says in the new gospel, “It is an act of sacrifice. It is good and pious.” What this new version of the tale allows us to see is a fresh perspective on forgiveness. If the purpose of life is spiritual growth and we are willing to perceive acts of seeming betrayal as part of a divine order, then we can more easily embrace forgiveness as a form of acceptance of what has occurred, not as a condoning of the act.

Our cultural conditioning around forgiveness has been to consider it as an absolution for the perpetrator, almost like a ‘get out of jail free’ card, offering the victim little more than the moral high ground. No wonder we struggle so much with the concept, when we feel that we are asked to have the forbearance of a saint and that to let go of our pain and resentment would be tantamount to letting them get away with it.

A much more human interpretation of forgiveness comes from A Course in Miracles, as discussed by Marianne Williamson in A Return To Love, where forgiveness is defined as the capacity to look beyond the act to the innate shared humanity of betrayer and betrayed. She says “Forgiveness is ‘selective remembering’ – a conscious decision to focus on love and let the rest go … It is an act of gracious generosity to accept a person based on what we know to be the truth about them, regardless of whether or not they are in touch with that truth themselves.”
Explaining how lack of forgiveness can then become a trap for the victim, she adds, “Forgiveness is like the martial arts of consciousness. In Aikido and other martial arts, we sidestep our attacker’s force, rather than resisting it. The energy of the attack then boomerangs back in the direction of the attacker. Our power lies in remaining non-reactive. Forgiveness works in the same way. When we attack back, and defence is a form of attack, we initiate a war that no-one can win.”

No-one has described the price that an unwillingness to forgive can exact more eloquently than Rachel North, a survivor of the 7 July London suicide bombings, who writes “For me forgiveness is about moving through the storm of pain and outrage, holding on to my essential self, which was there before the devastating event. It’s hard to let go of the desire for revenge: anger became my sole driver in the months after the attack. But to be trapped in a state of permanent rage hurts. Forgiveness is a choice, and a gift I make to myself, to live freely in the light rather than to be trapped in a hell of hatred and vengefulness. It is for me, not them, that I choose to do this. It is how I stay sane.”

Her courage, grace and brutal self-honesty in the face of extreme trauma show us that no matter how great the crime or betrayal may have been, forgiveness is ultimately an act of self-liberation. She also touches on one of the greatest traps in coming to peace with tragedy and betrayal – failure to acknowledge anger and pain. If we try to move too swiftly to a saintly form of instant forgiveness, we don’t allow ourselves to express the emotions that need to be experienced and released. True forgiveness does not and should not come at the cost of our own emotional integrity.

So what could the revamped Judas story mean for your life? Perhaps there’s an old resentment or two lurking about in your own psyche that could do with a mental makeover. Maybe an unfaithful partner or an unpleasant ending to a job or a friendship – anything you’re still holding on to, that you could view in a new light. What if those circumstances occurred to bring something deeper out in you or to move you on to brighter days?

I can think of a few circumstances of my own that were well past their sell-by dates, but that I wouldn’t deal with, until life kicked me up the backside with a form of betrayal that moved me out of there pretty damn quick. I may have felt victimised when it happened, but over time I have come to see a divine order at work in my life and learned that those seemingly dark times have brought great rewards and growth. Nietzsche was right – what does not kill us makes us stronger. There is purpose at work in our lives, whether or not we can see it at the time.
Some of us, like Rachel North, who have experienced such unimaginable tragedy, may never have the luxury of being able to know the purpose of those events, but we can all return to the essential truth about ourselves and allow forgiveness to set us free. As the author of The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold, wisely counsels in her autobiographical book Lucky, “You save yourself or you remain unsaved.”

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All material © 2006 Alison Porter. No article may be reproduced in full or in part without the express permission of the author. (Originally posted 10 Apr 06)