Hardly any other figure in Christian tradition has fascinated and challenged artists over the centuries as much as Judas. As the betrayer of Jesus, he embodies the evil at the very heart of the circle of disciples—and has thus become a mirror of human depravity, imbued with art-historical significance. Especially during Easter, when the Passion of Christ once again takes center stage in liturgy and culture, it is worth taking a closer look at his depictions in the visual arts.
A few weeks before Easter, churches, museums, and digital image archives fill with works depicting the Passion of Christ. In this visual landscape, one figure plays a special role: the twelfth apostle, who has become the very embodiment of betrayal. The biblical tradition—especially in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—paints a multifaceted portrait. Judas Iscariot, son of Simon, was one of Jesus’ closest confidants and, at the same time, the one who betrayed him to the high priests for thirty pieces of silver. The kiss in the Garden of Gethsemane, with which he identified Jesus to his captors, is one of the most striking motifs of betrayal in world literature—and has become one of the most frequently depicted motifs in European painting. What makes Judas so fascinating is the theological tension he embodies: Was he a free agent who acted out of greed or disappointment? Or were his actions predestined by God to make the redemption of humanity possible? These questions, which already preoccupied the Church Fathers, have also repeatedly driven artists to reexamine the figure.
The Last Supper: Betrayal at the Set Table
The most famous scene in which Judas appears is The Last Supper. Here, during the shared meal on the eve of the crucifixion, Jesus foretells the betrayal—and all twelve apostles react with shock. Leonardo da Vinci’s monumental mural*The Last Supper* (1495–1498) in the Milanese monastery of Santa Maria delle Grazie is considered the pinnacle of this pictorial tradition. Leonardo dispenses with the medieval stylistic device of isolating Judas with a halo or depicting him as physically ugly. Instead, he identifies him through his receding posture and the moneybag clenched in his fist—symbols of inner estrangement. This psychological differentiation was new and groundbreaking for the Renaissance.
In earlier works, such as the mosaic in Sant’Apollinare Nuovo in Ravenna (6th century) or the wall paintings of the High Romanesque period, however, Judas is often clearly marked iconographically: by red hair—which in medieval symbolism was associated with treachery and passion—by darkness, or by his spatial separation from the other apostles.
The Kiss and the Arrest: The Dramatic Climax
The scene of the arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane offered artists maximum dramatic intensity. Around 1304–1306, Giotto di Bondone created one of the most powerful versions of this scene in the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua. His Judas wraps a yellow cloak around Christ —yellow being the color of deceit and envy—and kisses him, while armed men advance in the background. The immediacy of this composition, the intense eye contact between the two figures, makes the betrayal tangibly physical. Caravaggio, a master of dramatic chiaroscuro, reimagined this confrontation in his painting*The Arrest of Christ*(1602, National Gallery of Ireland, Dublin). Here, Judas’s kiss becomes an almost mechanical gesture amid chaos and darkness. Caravaggio’s version dispenses with religious glorification—what remains is the raw act of betrayal, surrounded by noise and iron.
Remorse, Death, and the Aftermath of the Painting
According to the Gospel of Matthew, after Jesus’s arrest, Judas was overcome by deep remorse. He threw the pieces of silver into the temple, went away, and hanged himself. This ending was depicted less frequently in art than the preceding scenes—yet it was not ignored. In 1629, in*Judas Returns the Silver Coins*, Rembrandt van Rijn explored the character’s psychological turmoil. The focus is not on the money, but on the face: desperate, broken, incapable of repentance. It is an early masterpiece by the young Rembrandt and one of the rarer examples in which Judas is portrayed as a tragic figure.
Between Condemnation and Understanding: The Long-Lasting Impact of a Motif
What makes Judas such a vivid motif even today? He is neither a pure monster nor a mere instrument of providence—and it is precisely this ambivalence that has preoccupied generations of artists. In the 20th century, the figure was reexamined through literary works such as Jorge Luis Borges’s story“Three Versions of Judas” and Nikos Kazantzakis’s novel*The Last Temptation *. At the same time, iconographic traditions—red hair, a moneybag, a yellow cloak—have left their mark on popular culture, extending all the way to film productions and graphic novels. For art history, the study of Judas remains a productive field: Those who engage with his portrayal gain insight not only into the theological debates of an era but also into how societies have visually grappled with evil, guilt, and the possibility of repentance. Especially at Easter, when the Passion narrative resonates most deeply in our culture, it is worth taking a fresh look at these images—with an open mind to the complexity of a figure who is far more than a mere villain.
