Barabbas

Read this one on a whim. I'm not particularly interested in Barabbas, but I did recognize the name and saw that the book took the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1951. That was enough to pick it up.

According to the Gospels, Barabbas is the criminal who is spared from death by crucifixion on Golgotha and in the process becomes a narrative adjunct to one of the most important events in Christian theology. Is Barabbas a changed man after the event? This is what Lagerkvist seems to explore. If the crucifixion was a self-sacrifice on behalf of the wretched and sinful, what immediate effect does it have? And who better to examine than the wretched, sinful person most directly and literally the beneficiary of this self-sacrifice?

One way to read show more the events that follow is that Barabbas remains doubtful. There is certainly doubt about the canonical miracles associated with Christianity, but there is also evidence that Barabbas is changed by at least the experience of being spared. He can't make the same choice of self-sacrifice, ultimately, but he does seem to be more tuned in to the suffering of others even if his attempts to do anything about it are misguided, ineffectual, and late.

It is an enjoyable novel, very spare and short. Good for inspiring a bit of deep thinking. show less

4.5/5

It amuses me, sometimes, the way people judge books. They'll ban them for epithets, they'll ban them for sex, they'll ban them for witchcraft. More often than not, they'll ban them for raising uncomfortable questions in the minds of children who have not yet been conditioned to follow the proper path. Ignore, and if you cannot ignore, condemn until you can, and if you cannot condemn until you can. Eradicate.

You could ban this book for any of those reasons, much as you could ban the Bible. Either one poses much more danger than most literature that is deemed unsafe. For one has resulted in millenia of misguided atrocities and the other is, well. A glimpse of its birth, before all the context, before all the history, before all the show more rules. Of what could have resulted without it.

The New York Times and Time magazine both referred to it as a parable. I really have to wonder how seriously they took it. It's true that it's not that long, and has religions underpinnings. The 'conveying a truth, religious principle, moral lesson, or meaning' part, though. To put it succinctly, in comparison to this 'parable', nihilism seems vastly more definitive, even encouraging. At least there's an end goal with that.

I will admit to bias, seeing how I was raised Catholic without once grasping the concept behind it all. The question has always fascinated me, though. The meaning of existence. And what a broad field it is! Sophisticated existentialism, misinformed agnosticism, misinterpreted atheism. The hydra of faith. It's all very fascinating, really. To see what extensive lengths humanity has gone in its attempt to reconcile the matter of its wandering in the world. All the shields it has built up between it and the dark.

If this book doesn't make you question whatever shield you have chosen, I would be worried. It doesn't matter that this is framed within the context of one of many religions. It is a human story, subject to the facts of life, the whims of fate, and the maelstrom of the mind. Ultimately, it is cruel, and strange, and will not divulge its secrets, for the truth is that it has no secrets to divulge. What it has is a chain of events that could mean one thing, or another, unless perhaps you missed a lesson here, or heard something incorrectly there, and maybe that person really wasn't the right one you should have listened to, or it was that one happenstance that really messed things up, and if it wasn't for that one specific moment in time you'd know exactly what you were supposed to do, and how things were going to happen, and what it all meant.

Chitterings in the void.

You know what, go ahead and think that this is a parable. Settle on some kind of conclusion, at least, and get it out of your head. It's not conducive to living, this kind of talk. Banning is a bit much, but temperance. Yes. Temperance is a must. show less

The main focus of Barabbas is of course Barabbas himself, but ever since I put the book down over a month ago, I haven't stopped thinking about one particular side character, a small girl with a cleft lip.

Despite being a genuine, good-hearted person, the girl with the cleft lip was kicked out of her house by her mother at a very young age for being "cursed." She lived the rest of her life on the streets of Jerusalem. At one point she entered into a very one-sided relationship with Barabbas, who frequently took advantage of her desperate desire to be told by someone, anyone, just once, that they loved her, even if they didn't mean it. She once encountered Jesus, who she firmly believed could heal her.

"She might well have asked him to

show more

cure her of her deformity, but she didn't want to. It would have been easy for him to do so, but she didn't want to ask him. He helped those who really needed help; his were the very great deeds. She would not trouble him with so little."

Jesus then approached her and said to her, "You shall bear witness for me."

That was no easy task. After Jesus' death, the girl with the cleft lip attempted to speak at a gathering of a group of disciples, but because she was a little nervous and hard to understand, she made the men uncomfortable and they ignored her. She tried instead to preach to those who had been rejected by society in the same way she had. She spoke to lepers and cripples about the healing power of Christ, and how they, too, would be allowed to enter the house of the Lord. She was overheard by a local blind man, who reported her to the Sanhedrin. She was condemned to death, and she was stoned. Her last words were, "Lord, how can I witness for thee? Forgive me. forgive..."

I don't have a good answer for how to consider such a life. A life filled with unimaginable suffering, and at the end she was still convinced that she had done wrong, or hadn't done enough. Despite spending my entire life within the Church, I couldn't help but read her last words and think that, rather than asking the Lord for forgiveness, it should be the other way around. Jesus should be on his knees, begging to be forgiven for all the torment he put her through. And if that's my reaction, then what could we possibly expect from Barabbas?

This is a man who watched Jesus die on the cross for his sins, in a more direct way than any of the rest of us can claim. At the same time, he saw the purest human being he knew suffer the same fate, all because she believed in Jesus. How does a man in that position come to terms with it all?

Lagerkvist explores this question brilliantly. I won't say any more about it, but I'll be reading this book every Lenten season for the rest of my life. show less

My kids love churches, but not having been brought up religiously, they don't understand any of the iconography. Trying to explain to a six-year-old why they all have statues of this beardy guy slowly dying on a stick has really brought home to me what a hideous and morbid idea Christianity is built on. I understand that some people find it very touching and beautiful, but I find it difficult to see it that way. Telling people that this man went through agony, and then died, on your behalf, whether you like it or not, is a heavy load to lay on someone and entails a serious amount of what I suppose psychologists would call guilt.

What's very clever about this book is that Pär Lagerkvist has found a way to examine this idea which works show more whether or not you believe in the metaphysics: Barabbas, the man acquitted in Jesus's place, is someone in whom the central myth of Christianity is literally true.

They spoke of his having died for them. That might be. But he really had died for Barabbas, no one could deny it!

So the reactions of Barabbas – relief, disbelief, morbid curiosity, survivor's guilt – become a kind of study in what Christian dogma might imply for the human mind. Barabbas can never quite bring himself to believe in Jesus as a divine figure, but, as he says in the novel's most famous passage: ‘I want to believe.’ That conflict is the essence of the book.

Barabbas is a great figure to expand upon, since in the source material he is both crucial and barely mentioned. The Bible gives very few details about him, though there's some suggestion in Luke that he took part in riots in Jerusalem. John, usually the most poetic of the gospels, is disappointingly brief: it simply says, ‘Barabbas was a bandit [λῃστής].’ This gives Lagerkvist great freedom to construct a suitably rough past for him, and the scope to imagine how this one act of being freed might have affected the rest of his life.

In some versions of the Biblical text, Barabbas's full name is ‘Jesus Barabbas’ (which would make sense of Pilate's question to the crowd in Luke – ‘Who would you have me free, [Jesus] Barabbas or the Jesus that is called Christ?’). This may reflect a later mythological tradition, but even so, it points to a deep sense in which the two are equated – indeed, there are serious Biblical scholars who believe that they are one and the same person. This duality is fully explored in Lagerkvist's story, which sees Barabbas go through similar ordeals and, for that matter, end up nailed in the same place.

His state of mind and his state of belief at that point are open to interpretation. It's a very incisive way of looking at the challenges and mysteries of such big topics as atonement, the crucifixtion, and faith – and one which goes to the heart of them in a way that theological texts generally do not. show less

Pär Lagerkvist's "Barabbas," translated to English by Alan Blair, is truly epic, despite being short and concise. It is the imagined story of Barabbas, a criminal who was granted amnesty by Pontius Pilate instead of Jesus. As he ages, Barabbas never comes to terms with the guilt created by his amnesty because he is constantly confronted by early Christians who are ambivalent to him.

Barabbas travels between Jerusalem and the countryside, where he earns a living as a hunter and bandit. He may be a zealot as well, which led to the crowd demanding his amnesty, something that happens before the open of the book. Barabbas witnesses Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection, an event that Barabbas is able to explain away. While living with a show more prostitute and spending time with "the Hare-Lipped Woman," a believer in Christ, Barabbas meets Peter, who confides that he feels guilty for not witnessing the resurrection and for denying Jesus. The book then jumps to Barabbas' hypothetical enslavement on Cyprus, where he is chained to a tall early Christian who eventually achieves partial abolition for Barabbas. Barabbas discovers more believers but he is never able to understand or realize their faith. In fact, he scorns them in the climax.

Lagerkvist's "Barabbas" is about a character, a man whose ideas are indefinable, like many of our ideas. He can't quite accept the proposition that Jesus is the Messiah, but he doesn't reject it outright either. He is not passive or indifferent, but curious. This turmoil and conflict drive the book.

As in "The Dwarf," Lagerkvist is scant on details. He doesn't need to describe the culture or architecture of Jerusalem or Rome to accomplish the narrative goal. "Barabbas" is neither proselytizing nor pedantic. It is immensely philosophical. Most readers, like myself I believe, will probably see their own inner struggle in Barabbas. show less

This novel is a fictional account of what happens to the historical Barabbas, who was acquitted in stead of Jesus - we follow Barabbas from the time he is freed from his death sentence. He’s drawn to this mystical figure who is innocent yet who give up his life. He watches the crucifixion, he visit the grave, he talks to Lazarus, but all the time he has rational answers for the miracles.

He didn't remember ever having seen anyone like him before. Though it must have been because he came straight from the dungeon and his eyes were still unused to the glare. That is why at first glance the man seemed to be surrounded by a dazzling light.

His life is one big crisis of faith - he’s seeking, watching the Christians, analyzing their show more behavior, wanting to have the assurance of faith yet are unable to grasp it.

The swedish Nobel-prize winner Pär Lagerkvist draws a powerful portrait of the modern sceptic. Lagerkvist called himself "a believer without a belief, a religious atheist". It’s remarkable how honest this crisis of faith is portrayed in Barabbas. It’s not a relief, but a real dilemma - one that Lagerkvist knows all too well. show less

"I have no god", Barabbas answered at last...
"Why then do you bear this "Christos Iesus" carved on your disk?"
"Because I want to believe", Barabbas said..."

He wanted to believe. But he did not understand.

"Love one another" - that's what they said the message of the crucified man was. Love one another - now what could that mean to Barabbas's simple mind? What could love mean to Barabbas who had been hated even by his mother from the moment he drew his first breath? Who had never felt any emotional connection with another human being? No it was too much for Barabbas to understand.
He was unwittingly caught up in happenings well beyond his comprehension. He could not believe in the messiah that many others had faith in. At the same time, show more he never was able to shirk off his sense of guilt and spiritual torment. His inner struggle reminds me a lot of the whiskey priest. Both struggle with questions of faith, albeit of very different nature.

It was Barrabas's poor luck that his life be entwined so closely with that of the crucified man - perhaps even closer than the strongest of the believers. When Barabbas was allowed to live, the other had to die. One died among his friends and followers. Barabbas lived and died alone - utterly alone. One was said to have risen from the dead. Barabbas -while still breathing - found himself trapped in the realm of the dead. Barabbas carried a disk with the name "Christos Iesus" crossed out. And that was his cross to bear.

On one hand, Barabbas, having witnessed these events of possibly huge import, was unable to put the pieces together and make any sense out of it. On the other, there were followers who knew of the messiah only from hearsay, yet believed in him strongly enough to part with their lives in his name. From firm believers, to staunch dissenters, to skeptics, Lagerkvist has created the entire spectrum. Through this ensemble, Lagrekvist also explores the nature of faith. Some believe too readily, some others are too cautious. He also brings to fore how questions of faith and superstition could have political ramifications. There are multiple mentions of lepers and slaves eagerly awaiting the appearance of the messiah and giving them a better life. These people of the lower classes who have no other way of belying a life of drudgery, are willing to grab on to anything that gives them hope. The possibility of the lower classes gaining strength makes the government stir to curb people's beliefs. And amidst all this turbulence, stands Barabbas, dazed like a deer, attempting in vain to fight off the storm within himself.

Of course, this doesn't need to be read as a religious novel. I read this as a parable, as a story about a man's inner struggle. Lagrekvist achieves an impressive feat by telling the story from the naive and uncomprehending point of view of Barabbas. Even with such a narrow field of vision, he presents a story with multiple layers and a lot of depth. Barabbas's view will provide the readers with a lot to chew upon. It was only Barabbas who did not understand....


PS: The book also comes with a seal of approval from [a:André Gide|7617|André Gide|http://photo.goodreads.com/authors/1252553705p2/7617.jpg], if the name means anything to you. show less