THE CIVIL TRIAL
In the chapter before last we saw the Sanhedrim pass a death sentence
on Jesus. Gladly would they have carried it out in the Jewish
fashion--by stoning. But, as was then explained, it was not in their
power: their Roman masters, while conceding to the native courts the
power of trying and punishing minor offences, reserved to themselves
the prerogative of life and death; and a case in which a capital
sentence had been passed in a Jewish court had to go before the
representative of Rome in the country, who tried it over again, and
might either confirm or reverse the sentence. Accordingly, after
passing sentence on Jesus themselves, the Sanhedrists had to lead Him
away to the tribunal of the governor.
I.
The representative of Imperial Rome in Palestine at this time was
Pontius Pilate. The position which he held may perhaps be best
realised by thinking of one of our own subordinate governors in India;
with the difference, however, that it was a heathen, not a Christian
power, that Pilate represented, and that it was the spirit of ancient
Rome, not that of modern England, which inspired his administration.
Of this spirit--the spirit of worldliness, diplomacy and expediency--he
was a typical exponent; and we shall see how true to it he proved on
this momentous day.[1]
Pilate had occupied his position for a good many years; yet he neither
liked his subjects nor they him. The Jews were among the most
intractable and difficult of all the states which the officials of Rome
had to manage. Mindful of the glory of their ancient history, and
still cherishing the hope of universal empire, they were impatient of
the yoke of subordination; they were constantly discovering in the
conduct of their rulers insults directed against their dignity or their
religion; they complained of the heavy taxation and pestered their
rulers with petitions. Pilate had not got on at all well with them.
Between him and them there was no sympathy. He hated their fanaticism.
In his quarrels with them, which were frequent, he had freely shed
their blood. They accused him of corruption, cruelty, robbery, and
maladministration of every description.
The residence of the governor was not in Jerusalem, in which no one
accustomed to the pleasures of Rome--its theatres, baths, games,
literature and society--could desire to live, but in the new coast city
of Caesarea, which in its splendour and luxury was a sort of small
imitation of Rome. Occasionally, however, the governor had to visit
the capital for business reasons; and usually as on this occasion, he
did so at the time of the Passover.
When there, he took up his residence in what had formerly been the
royal palace while Judaea still had a king. It had been built by Herod
the Great, who had a passion for architecture; and it was situated on
the hill to the south-west of the one on which the temple stood. It
was a splendid building,[2] rivalling the temple itself in appearance,
and so large as to be capable of containing a small army. It consisted
of two colossal wings, springing forward on either side, and a
connecting building between. In front of the latter stretched a broad
pavement; and here, in the open air, on a raised platform, was the
scene of the trial; because the Jewish authorities would not enter the
building, which to them was unclean. Pilate had to yield to their
scruples, though probably cursing them in his heart. But, indeed, it
was quite common for the Romans to hold courts of justice in the open
air. The front of the palace, all round, was supported by massive
pillars, forming broad, shady colonnades; and round the building there
extended a park, with walks, trees and ponds, where fountains cast
their sparkling jets high into the sunshine and flocks of tame doves
plumed their feathers at the water's edge.
Through the huge gateway, then, of this palatial residence, the Jewish
authorities, with their Prisoner in their midst, came pouring in the
early morning. Pilate came out to receive them and seated himself on
his chair of state, with his secretaries beside him, and behind him, no
doubt, numbers of bronzed Roman soldiers with their stolid looks and
upright spears. The Accused would have to ascend the platform, too;
and over against Him stood His accusers, with Caiaphas at their head.
What a spectacle was that! The heads of the Jewish nation leading
their own Messiah in chains to deliver Him up to a Gentile governor,
with the petition that He should be put to death! Shades of the heroes
and the prophets, who loved this nation and boasted of it and foretold
its glorious fate, the hour of destiny has come, and this is the result!
It was an act of national suicide. But was it not more? Was it not
the frustration of the purpose and the promise of God? So it certainly
appeared to be. Yet He is not mocked. Even through human sin His
purpose holds on its way. The Jews brought the Son of God to Pilate's
judgment-seat, that both Jew and Gentile might unite in condemning Him;
for it was part of the work of the Redeemer to expose human sin, and
here was to be exhibited the _ne plus ultra_ of wickedness, as the hand
of humanity was lifted up against its Maker. And yet that death was to
be the life of humanity; and Jesus, standing between Jew and Gentile,
was to unite them in the fellowship of a common salvation. "Oh the
depth both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are
His judgments, and His ways past finding out!"
II.
Pilate at once demanded what was the accusation which they brought
against the Prisoner.
The reply was a characteristic one, "If He were not a malefactor, we
would not have delivered Him up unto thee." This was as broad a hint
as they could give that they desired the governor to waive his right to
re-try the case, accepting their trial of it as sufficient, and content
himself with the other half of his prerogative--the passing and the
execution of the sentence. Sometimes provincial governors did so,
either through indolence or out of compliment to the native
authorities; and especially in a religious cause, which a foreigner
could not be expected to understand, such a compliment might seem a
boon which it was not unreasonable to ask.
But Pilate was not in a yielding mood, and retorted, "Take ye Him and
judge Him according to your law." This was as much as to say: If I am
not to hear the case, then I will neither pass the sentence nor inflict
the punishment; if you insist on this being a case for yourselves as
ecclesiastics, then keep it to yourselves; but, if you do, you must be
content with such a punishment as the law permits you to inflict.
To them this was gall and wormwood, because it was for the life of
Christ they were thirsting, and they well knew that imprisonment or
beating with rods was as far as they could go. The cold, keen Roman,
as proud as themselves, was making them feel the pressure of Rome's
foot on their neck, and he enjoyed a malicious pleasure in extorting
from them the complaint, "It is not lawful for us to put any man to
death."
Forced against their will and their expectation to formulate a charge,
they began to pour forth many vehement accusations; out of which at
length three emerged with some distinctness--first, that He was
perverting the nation; second, that He forbade to pay the imperial
tribute; and third, that He set Himself up as a king.
It will be observed that they never mentioned the charge on which they
had condemned Him themselves. It was for none of these three things
that they had condemned Him, but for blasphemy. They knew too well,
however, that if they advanced such a charge in this place, the
likelihood was that it would be sneered out of court. It will be
remembered how a Roman governor, mentioned in the life of St. Paul,
dealt with such a charge: "Gallio said unto the Jews, If it were a
matter of wrong or wicked lewdness, O ye Jews, reason would that I
should bear with you; but, if it be a question of words and names, and
of your law, look ye to it; for I will be no judge of such matters.
And he drave them from the judgment-seat." [3] And, although of course
Pilate could not have dared to exhibit the same cynical disdain for
what he would have called Jewish superstition, yet they knew that it
was in his heart.
But their inability to bring forward the real charge put them in a
false position, the dangers of which they did not escape. They had to
extemporise crimes, and they were not scrupulous about it.
Their first charge--that Jesus was perverting the nation[4]--was vague.
But what are we to say of the second--that He forbade to pay the
imperial tribute? When we remember His reply that very week to the
question whether or not it was lawful to pay tribute--"Render unto
Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and unto God the things which are
God's"--it looks very like a deliberate falsehood.[5] There was more
colour in their third statement--that He said He was Christ a King--for
He had at their tribunal solemnly avowed Himself to be the Christ.
Yet, in this case, also, they were well aware that to the ear of a
Roman the claim that He was a king would convey a different meaning
from that conveyed to their ears by the claim to be the Christ.
Indeed, at bottom their objection to Him was just that He did not
sufficiently claim to be a king in the Roman sense. They were eagerly
looking for a king, of splendour and military renown, to break the
Roman yoke and make Jerusalem the capital of a worldwide empire; and it
was because the spirit and aims of Jesus were alien to such ambitions
that they despised and hated Him.
Pilate understood perfectly well with whom he was dealing. He could
only be amused with their zeal for the payment of the Roman tribute.
One of the Evangelists says, "He knew that for envy they had delivered
Him." How far he was already acquainted with the career of Jesus we
cannot tell. He had been governor all the time of the movement
inaugurated by the Baptist and continued by Christ, and he can hardly
have remained in entire ignorance of it. The dream of his wife, which
we shall come to soon, seems to prove that Jesus had already been a
theme of conversation in the palace; and perhaps the tedium of a visit
to Jerusalem may have been relieved for the governor and his wife by
the story of the young Enthusiast who was bearding the fanatic priests.
Pilate displays, all through, a real interest in Jesus and a genuine
respect. This was no doubt chiefly due to what he himself saw of His
bearing at his tribunal; but it may also have been partly due to what
he had already heard about Him. At all events there is no indication
that he took the charges against Jesus seriously. The two first he
seems never to have noticed; but the third--that He was setting Himself
up as a king, who might be a rival to the emperor--was not such as he
could altogether pass by.
III.
Pilate, having heard the accusations, took Jesus inside the palace to
investigate them. This he did, no doubt, for the purpose of getting
rid of the importunity of His accusers, which was extreme. And Jesus
made no scruple, as they had done, about entering the palace. Shall we
say that the Jews had rejected Him, and He was turning to the
Gentiles--that the wall of partition had now fallen, and that He was
trampling over its ruins?
In the silence, then, of this interior hall He and Pilate stood face to
face--He in the prisoner's lonely place, Pilate in the place of power.
Yet how strangely, as we now look back at the scene, are the places
reversed! It is Pilate who is going to be tried--Pilate and Rome,
which he represented. All that morning Pilate was being judged and
exposed; and ever since he has stood in the pillory of history with the
centuries gazing at him.[6] In the old pictures of the Child Christ by
the great masters a halo proceeds from the Babe that lights up the
surrounding figures, sometimes with dazzling effect. And it is true
that on all who approached Christ, when He was in the world, there fell
a light in which both the good and the evil in them were revealed. It
was a search-light, that penetrated into every corner and exposed every
wrinkle. Men were judged as they came near Him. Is it not so still?
We never show so entirely what is in us as by the way in which we are
affected by Christ. We are judging ourselves and passing sentence on
ourselves for eternity by the way in which we deal with Him.
Pilate asked Him, "Art Thou the King of the Jews?" referring to the
third charge brought against Him. The reply of Jesus was cautious; it
was another question: "Sayest thou this of thyself, or did others tell
it thee of Me?" He desired to learn in what sense the question was
asked--whether from the standpoint of a Roman or from that of the Jews;
because of course His answer would be different according as He was
asked whether He was a king as a Roman would understand the word or
according as it was understood by the Jews.
But this answer nettled Pilate, perhaps because it assumed that he
might have more interest in the case than he cared to confess; and he
said angrily, "Am I a Jew? Thine own nation and the chief priests have
delivered Thee unto me." If he intended this to sting, the blow did
not fail of its mark. Ah, tingling shame and poignant pain! His own
nation--His own beloved nation, to which He had devoted His life--had
given Him up to the Gentile. He felt a shame for it before the
foreigner such as a slave on the block may feel before her purchaser
for the father and the family that have sold her into disgrace.
Jesus at once proceeded, however, to answer Pilate's question on both
sides, both on the Roman political and then on the Jewish religious
side.
First, He answered negatively, "My kingdom is not of this world!" He
was no rival of the Roman emperor. If He had been, the first thing He
must have done would have been to assemble soldiers about Him for the
purpose of freeing the country from the Roman occupation, and the very
first duty of these soldiers would have been to defend the person of
their king; but it could be proved that at His arrest there had been no
fighting on His behalf, and that He had ordered the one follower who
had drawn a sword to sheathe it again. It was not a kingdom of force
and arms and worldly glory He had in view.
Yet, even in making this denial, Jesus had used the words, "My
kingdom." And Pilate broke in, "Art Thou a king then?" "Yes," replied
Jesus; "to this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the
world, that I should bear witness unto the truth." This was His
kingdom--the realm of Truth. It differs widely from that of Caesar.
Caesar's empire is over the bodies of men; this is over their hearts.
The strength of Caesar's empire is in soldiers, arms, citadels and
navies; the strength of this kingdom is in principles, sentiments,
ideas. The benefit secured by Caesar to the citizens is external
security for their persons and properties; the blessings of Christ's
kingdom are peace of conscience and joy in the Holy Ghost. The empire
of Caesar, vast as it was, yet was circumscribed; the kingdom of Christ
is without limits, and is destined to be established in every land.
Caesar's empire, like every other earthly kingdom, had its day and
passed out of existence; but the kingdom of Truth shall last for
evermore.
It has been remarked that there was something Western rather than
Oriental in this sublime saying of Christ. What a noble-minded Jew
longed for above all things was righteousness; but what a noble-minded
Gentile aspired after was truth. There were some spirits, in that age,
even among the heathen, in whom the mention of a kingdom of truth or
wisdom would have struck a responsive chord. Jesus was feeling to see
whether there was in this man's soul any such longing.
He approached still nearer him when He added the searching remark,
"Every one that is of the truth heareth My voice;" for it was a hint
that, if he loved the truth, he must believe in Him. Jesus preached to
His judge. Just as the prisoner Paul made Felix the judge tremble, and
Agrippa the judge cry out, "Almost thou persuadest me to be a
Christian," so Jesus, with the instinct of the preacher and the
Saviour, was feeling for Pilate's conscience. He who fishes for the
souls of men must use many angles; and on this occasion Jesus selected
a rare one.
There will always be some who, though common appeals do not touch them,
yet respond to this delicate appeal. Is truth a magic word to you? do
you thirst for wisdom? There are those to whom the prizes which the
majority strive for are as dross. The race for wealth, the pride of
life, the distinctions of society--you laugh at them and pity them.
But a golden page of a favourite poet, a thought newly minted in the
glowing heat of a true thinker's mind, a pregnant word that sets your
fancy ranging through eternity, a luminous doctrine that rises on the
intellectual horizon like a star,--these are your wealth. You feel
keenly the darkness of the world, and are perplexed by a hundred
problems. Child and lover of wisdom, do you know the King of Truth?
This is He who can satisfy your craving for light and lead you out of
the maze of speculation and error.
But is it true, as He says here, that everyone who is of the truth
heareth His voice? Is not the world at present full of men and women
who are in search of truth, yet pass Christ by? It is a very strong
word He uses; it is, "every one who has been born of the truth." Have
you actually clambered on Truth's knees, and clung to her neck, and fed
at her breast? There are many who seek truth earnestly with the
intellect, but do not desire it to rule their conduct or purify their
heart. But only those who seek truth with their whole being are her
true children; and to these the voice of Christ, when it is discerned,
is like the sunrise to the statue of Memnon or as the call of spring to
the responsive earth.
Alas! Pilate was no such man. He was incapable of spiritual
aspiration; he was of the earth earthy; he sought for nothing which the
eye cannot see or the hand handle. To him a kingdom of truth and a
king of truth were objects of fairyland or castles in the air. "What
is truth?" he asked; but, as he asked, he turned on his heel, and did
not wait for an answer. He asked only as a libertine might ask, What
is virtue? or a tyrant, What is freedom?
But he was clearly convinced that Jesus was innocent. He judged Him to
be an amiable enthusiast, from whom Rome had nothing to fear. So he
went out and pronounced His acquittal: "I find in Him no fault at all."
[1] On Pilate there is an essay of extraordinary subtlety and power in
Candlish's _Scripture Characters_.
[2] An eloquent account in Keim (vi., p. 80, English tr.), who gives
the authorities: "in part a tyrant's stronghold, and in part a fairy
pleasure-house."
[3] Acts xviii. 14-16.
[4] _ethnos_, not _laos_: they were speaking to a heathen.
[5] Keim calls it "a very flagrant lie."
[6] "Socrates, quum omnium sapientissime sanctissimeque vixisset, ita
in judicio capitis pro se dixit, ut non supplex aut reus, sed magister
aut dominus videretur judicum."--CICERO.