JESUS BEFORE PILATE
At the close of their trial, according to Matthew[60] and Mark,[61] the
high priest and the entire Sanhedrin led Jesus away to the tribunal of
the Roman governor. It was early morning, probably between six and seven
o'clock, when the accusing multitude moved from the judgment seat of
Caiaphas to the Prætorium of Pilate. Oriental labor anticipates the day
because of the excessive heat of noon; and, at daybreak, Eastern life is
all astir. To accommodate the people and to enjoy the repose of midday,
Roman governors, Suetonius tells us, mounted the _bema_ at sunrise. The
location of the judgment hall of Pilate in Jerusalem is not certainly
known. It may have been in the Castle of Antonia, a frowning fortress
that overlooked the Temple and its courts. Much more probably, however,
it was the magnificent palace of Herod, situated in the northwest
quarter of the city. This probability is heightened by the fact that it
was a custom born of both pride and pleasure, for Roman procurators and
proconsuls to occupy the splendid edifices of the local kings. The
Roman proprætor of Sicily dwelt in the Castle of King Hiero; and it is
reasonable to suppose that Pilate would have passed his time while at
Jerusalem in the palace of Herod. This building was frequently called
the "King's Castle," sometimes was styled the "Prætorium," and was often
given the mixed name of "Herod's Prætorium." But, by whatever name
known, it was of gorgeous architecture and magnificent proportions. Keim
describes it as "a tyrant's stronghold and in part a fairy
pleasure-house." A wall thirty cubits high completely encircled the
buildings of the palace. Beautiful white towers crowned this wall at
regular intervals. Three of these were named in honor of Mariamne, the
wife; Hippicus, the friend; and Phasælus, the brother of the king.
Within the inclosure of the wall, a small army could have been
garrisoned. The floors and ceilings of the palace were decorated and
adorned with the finest woods and precious stones. Projecting from the
main building were two colossal marble wings, named for two Roman
imperial friends, the Cæsareum and the Ægrippeum. To a person standing
in one of the towers, a magnificent prospect opened to the view.
Surrounding the castle walls were beautiful green parks, intercepted
with broad walks and deep canals. Here and there splashing fountains
gushed from brazen mouths. A hundred dovecots, scattered about the
basins and filled with cooing and fluttering inmates, lent charm and
animation to the scene. And to crown the whole, was the splendid
panorama of Jerusalem stretching away among the hills and valleys. Such
was the residence of the Roman knight who at this time ruled Judea. And
yet, with all its regal splendor and magnificence, he inhabited it only
a few weeks in each year. The Jewish metropolis had no fascination
whatever for the tastes and accomplishments of Pilate. "The saddest
region in the world," says Renan, who had been imbued, from long
residence there, with its melancholy character, "is perhaps that which
surrounds Jerusalem." "To the Spaniard," says Rosadi, "who had come to
Jerusalem, by way of Rome, and who was also of courtly origin, there
could have been nothing pleasing in the parched, arid and colorless
nature of Palestine, much less in the humble, mystic, out-at-elbows
existence of its people. Their superstition, which would have nothing of
Roman idolatry, which was their sole belief, their all, appeared to him
a reasonable explanation, and a legitimate one, of their disdain and
opposition. He therefore detested the Jews, and his detestation was
fully reciprocated." It is not surprising, then, that he preferred to
reside at Cæsarea by the sea where were present Roman modes of thought
and forms of life. He visited Jerusalem as a matter of official duty,
"during the festivals, and particularly at Easter with its dreaded
inspirations of the Jewish longing for freedom, which the festival, the
air of spring and the great rendezvous of the nation, charmed into
activity." In keeping with this custom, Pilate was now in the Jewish
Capital on the occasion of the feast of the Passover.
Having condemned Him to death themselves, the Sanhedrin judges were
compelled to lead Jesus away to the Prætorium of the Roman governor to
see what he had to say about the case; whether he would reverse or
affirm the condemnation which they had pronounced. Between dawn and
sunrise, they were at the palace gates. Here they were compelled to
halt. The Passover had commenced, and to enter the procurator's palace
at such a time was to incur Levitic contamination. A dozen judicial
blunders had marked the proceedings of their own trial in the palace of
Caiaphas. And yet they hesitated to violate a purely ritual regulation
in the matter of ceremonial defilement. This regulation was a
prohibition to eat fermented food during the Passover Feast, and was
sacred to the memory of the great deliverance from Egyptian bondage when
the children of Israel, in their flight, had no time to ferment their
dough and were compelled to consume it before it had been leavened.
Their purposes and scruples were announced to Pilate; and, in a spirit
of gracious and politic condescension, he removed the difficulty by
coming out to meet them. But this action was really neither an
inconvenience nor a condescension; for it was usual to conduct Roman
trials in the open air. Publicity was characteristic of all Roman
criminal proceedings. And, in obedience to this principle, we find that
the proconsul of Achaia at Corinth, the city magistrates in Macedonia,
and the procurators at Cæsarea and Jerusalem, erected their tribunals in
the most conspicuous public places, such as the market, the race course,
and even upon the open highway.[62] An example directly in point is,
moreover, that of the procurator Florus who caused his judgment seat to
be raised in front of the palace of Herod, A.D. 66, and, enthroned
thereon, received the great men of Jerusalem who came to see him and
gathered around his tribunal. To the same place, according to Josephus,
the Jewish queen Bernice came barefoot and suppliant to ask favors of
Florus.[63] The act of Pilate in emerging from the palace to meet the
Jews was, therefore, in exact compliance with Roman custom. His judgment
seat was doubtless raised immediately in front of the entrance and
between the great marble wings of the palace. Pilate's tribune or _bema_
was located in this space on the elevated spot called Gabaatha, an
Aramaic word signifying an eminence, a "hump." The same place in Greek
was called Lithostroton, and signified "The Pavement," because it was
laid with Roman marble mosaic. The location on an eminence was in
accordance with a maxim of Roman law that all criminal trials should be
directed from a raised tribunal where everybody could see and understand
what was being said and done. The ivory curule chair of the procurator,
or perhaps the ancient golden royal chair of Archelaus was placed upon
the tessellated pavement and was designed for the use of the governor.
As a general thing, there was sitting room on the tribunal for the
assessors, the accusers and the accused. But such courtesies and
conveniences were not extended to the despised subjects of Judea; and
Jesus, as well as the members of the Sanhedrin, was compelled to stand.
The Latin language was the official tongue of the Roman empire, and was
generally used in the administration of justice. But at the trial of
Jesus it is believed that the Greek language was the medium of
communication. Jesus had doubtless become acquainted with Greek in
Galilee and probably replied to Pilate in that tongue. This is the
opinion, at least, of both Keim[64] and Geikie.[65] The former asserts
that there was no interpreter called at the trial of Christ. It is also
reasonably certain that no special orator like Tertullus, who informed
the governor against Paul, was present to accuse Jesus.[66] Doubtless
Caiaphas the high priest played this important rôle.
When Pilate had mounted the _bema_, and order had been restored, he
asked:
"What accusation bring ye against this man?"
This question is keenly suggestive of the presence of a judge and of the
beginning of a solemn judicial proceeding. Every word rings with Roman
authority and administrative capacity. The suggestion is also prominent
that accusation was a more important element in Roman criminal trials
than inquisition. This suggestion is reënforced by actual _dictum_ from
the lips of Pilate's successor in the same place: "It is not the manner
of the Romans to deliver any man to die, before that he which is accused
have the accusers face to face, and have license to answer for himself
concerning the crime laid against him."[67]
The chief priests and scribes sought to evade this question by
answering:
"If he were not a malefactor, we would not have delivered him up unto
thee."[68]
They meant by this that they desired the procurator to waive his right
to retry the case; accept their trial as conclusive; and content himself
with the mere execution of the sentence. In this reply of the priests to
the initial question of the Roman judge, is also revealed the further
question of that conflict of jurisdiction between Jews and Romans that
we have already so fully discussed. "If he were not a malefactor, we
would not have delivered him up unto thee." These words from the mouths
of the priests were intended to convey to the mind of Pilate the Jewish
notion that a judgment by the Sanhedrin was all-sufficient; and that
they merely needed his countersign to justify execution. But Pilate did
not take the hint or view the question in that light. In a tone of
contemptuous scorn he simply replied:
"Take ye him, and judge him according to your law."
This answer indicates that Pilate did not, at first, understand the
exact nature of the proceedings against Jesus. He evidently did not know
that the prisoner had been charged with a capital offense; else he would
not have suggested that the Jews take jurisdiction of the matter. This
is clearly shown from the further reply of the priestly accusers:
"It is not lawful for us to put any man to death."[69]
The advice of Pilate and the retort of the Jews have been construed in
two ways. A certain class of critics have contended that the procurator
granted to the Jews in this instance the right to carry out capital
punishment, as others have maintained was the case in the execution of
Stephen. This construction argues that Pilate knew at once the nature of
the accusation.
Another class of writers contend that the governor, by this language,
merely proposed to them one of the minor penalties which they were
already empowered to execute. The objection to the first interpretation
is that the Jews would have been delighted to have such power conferred
upon them, and would have exercised it; unless it is true, as has been
held, that they were desirous of throwing the odium of Christ's death
upon the Romans. The second construction is entirely admissible, because
it is consonant with the theory that jurisdiction in capital cases had
been withdrawn from the Sanhedrin, but that the trial and punishment of
petty offenses still remained with it. A third and more reasonable
interpretation still is that when Pilate said, "Take ye him and judge
him according to your law," he intended to give expression to the hatred
and bitterness of his cynical and sarcastic soul. He despised the Jews
most heartily, and he knew that they hated him. He had repeatedly
outraged their religious feelings by introducing images and shields into
the Holy City. He had devoted the Corban funds to unhallowed purposes,
and had mingled the blood of the Galileans with their sacrifices. In
short, he had left nothing undone to humiliate and degrade them. Now
here was another opportunity. By telling them to judge Jesus according
to their own laws, he knew that they must make a reply which would be
wounding and galling to their race and national pride. He knew that they
would have to confess that sovereignty and nationality were gone from
them. Such a confession from them would be music to his ear. The
substance of his advice to the Jews was to exercise their rights to a
certain point, to the moment of condemnation; but to stop at the place
where their sweetest desires would be gratified with the exercise of the
rights of sovereignty and nationality.
Modern poetry supports this interpretation of ancient history. "The
Merchant of Venice" reveals the same method of heaping ridicule upon a
Jew by making him impotent to execute the law. Shylock, the Jew, in
contracting a usurious loan, inserted a stipulation that if the debt
should not be paid when due, the debtor must allow a pound of flesh to
be cut from his body. The debt was not discharged at the maturity of the
bond, and Shylock made application to the Doge to have the pound of
human flesh delivered to him in accordance with the compact. But Portia,
a friend of the debtor, though a woman, assumed the garb and affected
the speech of a lawyer in his defense; and, in pleading the case, called
tauntingly and exultingly to the Jew:
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;
The words expressly are, a pound of flesh:
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods
Are by the laws of Venice confiscate
Unto the State of Venice.[70]
But whatever special interpretation may be placed upon the opening words
passed between the priestly accusers and the Roman judge, it is clearly
evident that the latter did not intend to surrender to the former the
right to impose and execute a sentence of death. The substance of
Pilate's address to the Jews, when they sought to evade his question
concerning the accusation which they had to bring against Jesus, was
this: I have asked for a specific charge against the man whom you have
brought bound to me. You have given not a direct, but an equivocal
answer. I infer that the crime with which you charge him is one against
your own laws. With such offenses I do not wish to meddle. Therefore, I
say unto you: "Take ye him and judge him according to your law." If I am
not to know the specific charge against him, I will not assume
cognizance of the case. If the accusation and the facts relied upon to
support it are not placed before me, I will not sentence the man to
death; and, under the law, you cannot.
The Jews were thus thwarted in their designs. They had hoped to secure a
countersign of their own judgment without a retrial by the governor.
They now found him in no yielding and accommodating mood. They were thus
forced against their will and expectation to formulate specific charges
against the prisoner in their midst. The indictment as they presented
it, is given in a single verse of St. Luke:
"And they began to accuse him, saying, We found this fellow perverting
the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Cæsar, saying that he
himself is Christ, a King."[71]
It is noteworthy that in this general accusation is a radical departure
from the charges of the night before. In the passage from the Sanhedrin
to the Prætorium, the indictment had completely changed. Jesus had not
been condemned on any of the charges recorded in this sentence of St.
Luke. He had been convicted on the charge of blasphemy. But before
Pilate he is now charged with high treason. To meet the emergency of a
change of jurisdiction, the priestly accusers converted the accusation
from a religious into a political offense. It may be asked why the
Sanhedrists did not maintain the same charges before Pilate that they
themselves had considered before their own tribunal. Why did they not
lead Jesus into the presence of the Roman magistrate and say: O
Governor, we have here a Galilean blasphemer of Jehovah. We want him
tried on the charge of blasphemy, convicted and sentenced to death. Why
did they not do this? They were evidently too shrewd. Why? Because, in
legal parlance, they would have had no standing in court. Why? Because
blasphemy was not an offense against Roman law, and Roman judges would
generally assume cognizance of no such charges.
The Jews understood perfectly well at the trial before Pilate the
principle of Roman procedure so admirably expressed a few years later by
Gallio, proconsul of Achaia, and brother of Seneca: "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."[72] This
attitude of Roman governors toward offenses of a religious nature
perfectly explains the Jewish change of front in the matter of the
accusation against Jesus. They merely wanted to get themselves into a
Roman court on charges that a Roman judge would consent to try. In the
threefold accusation recorded by the third Evangelist, they fully
accomplished this result.
The first count in the indictment, that He was perverting the nation,
was vague and indefinite, but was undoubtedly against Roman law, because
it was in the nature of sedition, which was one of the forms of treason
under Roman jurisprudence. This charge of perverting the nation was in
the nature of the revival of the accusation of sedition which they had
first brought forward by means of the false witnesses before their own
tribunal, and that had been abandoned because of the contradictory
testimony of these witnesses.
The second count in the indictment, that He had forbidden to give
tribute to Cæsar, was of a more serious nature than the first. A
refusal, in modern times, to pay taxes or an attempt to obstruct their
collection, is a mild offense compared with a similar act under ancient
Roman law. To forbid to pay tribute to Cæsar in Judea was a form of
treason, not only because it was an open defiance of the laws of the
Roman state, but also because it was a direct denial of Roman
sovereignty in Palestine. Such conduct was treason under the definitions
of both Ulpian and Cicero. The Jews knew the gravity of the offense when
they sought to entrap Jesus in the matter of paying tribute to Cæsar.
They believed that any answer to the question that they had asked, would
be fatal to Him. If He advised to pay the imperial tribute, He could be
charged with being an enemy to His countrymen, the Jews. If He advised
not to pay the tribute, He would be charged with being a rebellious
subject of Cæsar. His reply disconcerted and bewildered them when He
said: "Render therefore unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar's; and
unto God the things that are God's."[73] In this sublime declaration,
the Nazarene announced the immortal principle of the separation of
church and state, and of religious freedom in all the ages. And when, in
the face of His answer, they still charged Him with forbidding to pay
tribute to Cæsar, they seem to have been guilty of deliberate falsehood.
Keim calls the charge "a very flagrant lie." Both at Capernaum,[74]
where Roman taxes were gathered, and at Jerusalem,[75] where religious
dues were offered, Jesus seems to have been both a good citizen and a
pious Jew. "Jésus bon citoyen" (Jesus a good citizen) is the title of a
chapter in the famous work of Bossuet entitled "Politique tirée de
l'Ecriture sainte." In it the great French ecclesiastic describes very
beautifully the law-abiding qualities of the citizen-prophet of Galilee.
In pressing the false charge that he had advised not to pay taxes to
Rome, the enemies of Jesus revealed a peculiar and wanton malignity.
The third count in the indictment, that the prisoner had claimed to be
"Christ a King," was the last and greatest of the charges. By this He
was deliberately accused of high treason against Cæsar, the gravest
offense known to Roman law. Such an accusation could not be ignored by
Pilate as a loyal deputy of Tiberius. The Roman monarch saw high treason
in every word and act that was uncomplimentary to his person or
dangerous to his power. Fifty-two prosecutions for treason, says
Tacitus, took place during his reign.
The charges of high treason and sedition against Jesus were all the more
serious because the Romans believed Palestine to be the hotbed of
insurrection and sedition, and the birthplace of pretenders to kingly
powers. They had recently had trouble with claimants to thrones, some of
them from the lowest and most ignoble ranks. Judas, the son of Hezekiah,
whom Herod had caused to be put to death, proclaimed royal intentions,
gathered quite a multitude of adherents about him in the neighborhood of
Sepphoris in Galilee, raised an insurrection, assaulted and captured the
palace of the king at Sepphoris, seized all the weapons that were stored
away in it, and armed his followers with them. Josephus does not tell us
what became of this royal pretender; but he does say that "he became
terrible to all men, by tearing and rending those that came near
him."[76]
In the province of Perea, a certain Simon, who was formerly a slave of
Herod, collected a band of followers, and had himself proclaimed king by
them. He burned down the royal palace at Jericho, after having plundered
it. A detachment under the command of the Roman general Gratus made
short work of the pretensions of Simon by capturing his adherents and
putting him to death.[77]
Again, a certain peasant named Athronges, formerly a shepherd, claimed
to be a king, and for a long time, in concert with his four brothers,
annoyed the authorities of the country, until the insurrection was
finally broken up by Gratus and Ptolemy.[78]
In short, during the life of Jesus, Judea was passing through a period
of great religious and political excitement. The Messiah was expected
and a king was hoped for; and numerous pretenders appeared from time to
time. The Roman governors were constantly on the outlook for acts of
sedition and treason. And when the Jews led Jesus into the presence of
Pilate and charged Him with claiming to be a king, the recent cases of
Judas, Simon, and Athronges must have arisen in his mind, quickened his
interest in the pretensions of the prisoner of the Jews, and must have
awakened his sense of loyalty as Cæsar's representative. The lowliness
of Jesus, being a carpenter, did not greatly allay his fears; for he
must have remembered that Simon was once a slave and that Athronges was
nothing more than a simple shepherd.
When Pilate had heard the accusations of the Jews, he deliberately arose
from his judgment seat, gathered his toga about him, motioned the mob to
stand back, and beckoned Jesus to follow him into the palace. St. John
alone tells us of this occurrence.[79]
At another time, in the Galilean simplicity and freedom of His nature,
the Prophet of Nazareth had spoken with a tinge of censure and sarcasm
of the rulers of the Gentiles that lorded it over their subjects,[80]
and had declared that "they that wear soft clothing are in kings'
houses."[81] Now the lowly Jewish peasant was entering for the first
time a palace of one of the rulers of the Gentiles in which were soft
raiment and royal purple. The imagination is helpless to picture the
historical reflections born of the memories of that hour. A meek and
lowly carpenter enters a king's palace on his way to an ignominious
death upon the cross; and yet the greatest kings of all the centuries
that followed were humble worshipers in their palaces before the cross
that had been the instrument of his torture and degradation. Such is the
irony of history; such is the mystery of God's providence; such is the
mystic ebb and flow of the tides and currents of destiny and fate.
Of the examination of Jesus inside the palace, little is known. Pilate,
it seems, brushed the first two charges aside as unworthy of serious
consideration; and proceeded at once to examine the prisoner on the
charge that he pretended to be a king. "If," Pilate must have said,
"the fellow pretends to be a king, as Simon and Athronges did before
him; if he says that Judea has a right to have a king other than Cæsar,
he is guilty of treason, and it is my solemn duty as deputy of Tiberius
to ascertain the fact and have him put to death."
The beginning of the interrogation of Jesus within the palace is
reported by all the Evangelists in the same words. Addressing the
prisoner, Pilate asked: "Art thou the King of the Jews?" "Jesus answered
him, Sayest thou this thing of thyself, or did others tell it thee of
me?"[82]
This was a most natural and fitting response of the Nazarene to the
Roman. It was necessary first to understand the exact nature of the
question before an appropriate answer could be made. Jesus simply wished
to know whether the question was asked from a Roman or a Jewish, from a
temporal or a spiritual standpoint. If the interrogation was directed
from a Roman, a temporal point of view, His answer would be an emphatic
negative. If the inquiry had been prompted by the Jews, it was then
pregnant with religious meaning, and called for a different reply; one
that would at once repudiate pretensions to earthly royalty, and, at the
same time, assert His claims to the Messiahship and heavenly
sovereignty.
"Pilate answered, Am I a Jew? Thine own nation and the chief priests
have delivered thee unto me: What hast thou done?"
To this Jesus replied: "My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom
were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be
delivered to the Jews: but now is my kingdom not from hence."[83]
This reply of the Master is couched in that involved, aphoristic,
strangely beautiful style that characterized His speech at critical
moments in His career. Its import is clear, though expressed in a double
sense: first from the Roman political, and then from the Jewish
religious side.
First He answered negatively: "My kingdom is not of this world."
By this He meant that there was no possible rivalry between Him and
Cæsar. But, in making this denial, He had used two words of grave
import: My Kingdom. He had used one word that struck the ear of Pilate
with electric force: the word Kingdom. In the use of that word,
according to Pilate's reasoning, Jesus stood self-convicted. For how,
thought Pilate, can He pretend to have a Kingdom, unless He pretends to
be a king? And then, as if to cow and intimidate the prisoner, as if to
avoid an unpleasant issue of the affair, he probably advanced
threateningly upon the Christ, and asked the question which the Bible
puts in his mouth: "Art thou a king then?"
Rising from the simple dignity of a man to the beauty and glory and
grandeur of a God, Jesus used the most wonderful, beautiful, meaningful
words in the literature of the earth: "Thou sayest that I am a king. To
this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I
should bear witness unto the truth. Everyone that is of the truth
heareth my voice."[84]
This language contains a perfectly clear description of the kingdom of
Christ and of His title to spiritual sovereignty. His was not an empire
of matter, but a realm of truth. His kingdom differed widely from that
of Cæsar. Cæsar's empire was over the bodies of men; Christ's over their
souls. The strength of Cæsar's kingdom was in citadels, armies, navies,
the towering Alps, the all-engirdling seas. The strength of the kingdom
of the Christ was and is and will ever be in sentiments, principles,
ideas, and the saving power of a divine word. But, as clever and
brilliant as he must have been, Pilate could not grasp the true meaning
of the words of the Prophet. The spiritual and intellectual grandeur of
the Galilean peasant was beyond the reach of the Roman lord and
governor. In a cynical and sarcastic mood, Pilate turned to Jesus and
asked: "What is truth?"[85]
This pointed question was the legitimate offspring of the soul of Pilate
and a natural product of the Roman civilization of his age. It was not
asked with any real desire to know the truth; for he turned to leave the
palace before an answer could be given. It was simply a blank response
born of mental wretchedness and doubt. If prompted by any silent
yearning for a knowledge of the truth, his conduct indicated clearly
that he did not hope to have that longing satisfied by the words of the
humble prisoner in his charge. "What is truth?" An instinctive utterance
this, prompted by previous sad reflections upon the wrecks of philosophy
in search of truth.
We have reason to believe that Pilate was a man of brilliant parts and
studious habits. His marriage into the Roman royal family argued not
only splendid physical endowments, but rare intellectual gifts as well.
Only on this hypothesis can we explain his rise from obscurity in Spain
to a place in the royal family as husband of the granddaughter of
Augustus and foster daughter of Tiberius. Then he was familiar, if he
was thus endowed and accomplished, with the despairing efforts of his
age and country to solve the mysteries of life and to ascertain the end
of man. He had doubtless, as a student, "mused and mourned over Greece,
and its search of truth intellectual--its keen and fruitless search,
never-ending, ever beginning, across wastes of doubt and seas of
speculation lighted by uncertain stars." He knew full well that Roman
philosophy had been wrecked and stranded amidst the floating débris of
Grecian thought and speculation. He had thought that the _ultima ratio_
of Academicians and Peripatetics, of Stoics and Epicureans had been
reached. But here was a new proposition--a kingdom of truth whose
sovereign had as subjects mere vagaries, simple mental conceptions
called truths--a kingdom whose boundaries were not mountains, seas, and
rivers, but clouds, hopes, and dreams.
What did Pilate think of Jesus? He evidently regarded Him as an amiable
enthusiast, a harmless religious fanatic from whom Cæsar had nothing to
fear. While alone with Jesus in the palace, he must have reasoned thus
with himself, silently and contemptuously: The mob outside tells me that
this man is Rome's enemy. Foolish thought! We know who Cæsar's enemies
are. We have seen and heard and felt the enemies of Rome--barbarians
from beyond the Danube and the Rhine--great strong men, who can drive a
javelin not only through a man, but a horse, as well. These are Cæsar's
enemies. This strange and melancholy man, whose subjects are mere
abstract truths, and whose kingdom is beyond the skies, can be no enemy
of Cæsar.
Believing this, he went out to the rabble and pronounced a verdict of
acquittal: "I find in him no fault at all."
Pilate had tried and acquitted Jesus. Why did he not release Him, and,
if need be, protect Him with his cohort from the assaults of the Jews?
Mankind has asked for nearly two thousand years why a Roman, with the
blood of a Roman in him, with the glorious prestige and stern authority
of the Roman empire at his back, with a Roman legion at his command, did
not have the courage to do the high Roman act. Pilate was a moral and
intellectual coward of arrant type. This is his proper characterization
and a fitting answer to the world's eternal question.
The Jews heard his sentence of acquittal in sullen silence. Desperately
resolved to prevent His release, they began at once to frame new
accusations.
"And they were the more fierce, saying, He stirreth up the people,
teaching throughout all Jewry, beginning from Galilee to this
place."[86]
This charge was intended by the Jews to serve a double purpose: to
strengthen the general accusation of high treason recorded by St. Luke;
and to embitter and poison the mind of the judge against the prisoner by
telling Pilate that Jesus was from Galilee. In ancient times Galilee was
noted as the hotbed of riot and sedition. The Galileans were brave and
hardy mountaineers who feared neither Rome nor Judea. As champions of
Jewish nationality, they were the fiercest opponents of Roman rule; and
in the final catastrophe of Jewish history they were the last to be
driven from the battlements of Jerusalem. As advocates and preservers of
the purity of the primitive Jewish faith, they were relentless foes of
Pharisaic and Sadducean hypocrisy as it was manifested by the Judean
keepers of the Temple. The Galileans were hated, therefore, by both
Romans and Judeans; and the Sanhedrists believed that Pilate would make
short work of Jesus if he learned that the prisoner was from Galilee.
But a different train of thought was excited in the mind of the Roman
governor. He was thinking about one thing, and they about another.
Pilate showed himself throughout the trial a craven coward and
contemptible timeserver. From beginning to end, his conduct was a record
of cowardice and subterfuge. He was constantly looking for loopholes of
escape. His heart's desire was to satisfy at once both his conscience
and the mob. The mention of Galilee was a ray of light that fell across
the troubled path of the cowardly and vacillating judge. He believed
that he saw an avenue of escape. He asked the Jews if Jesus was a
Galilean. An affirmative reply was given. Pilate then determined to rid
himself of responsibility by sending Jesus to be tried by the governor
of the province to which He belonged. He felt that fortune favored his
design; for Herod, Tetrarch of Galilee, was at that very moment in
Jerusalem in attendance upon the Passover feast. He acted at once upon
the happy idea; and, under the escort of a detachment of the Prætorian
Cohort, Jesus was led away to the palace of the Maccabees where Herod
was accustomed to stop when he came to the Holy City.