Little is known of Pilate’s early life. He was born in Seville, Spain, but switched allegiance to the Romans after they conquered his mother country. Seeking his fortune in Rome, Pilate married 15-year-old Claudia, the youngest daughter of Julia. (Julia was Augustus Caesar’s only child and she was the second wife of Tiberius Caesar, who was the Roman emperor at the time of Christ’s trial). Because Claudia was the granddaughter of Augustus Caesar, Pilate hoped his marriage to her would result in an imperial appointment. This ambition was fulfilled when, as a wedding gift, Tiberius presented Pilate with a commission as procurator of Judea.

            Pilate’s new commission probably left him somewhat disappointed, since Judea was not a prestigious appointment. It was simply a way for Tiberius to remove Pilate and Claudia as far from Rome as possible, because he was not overly fond of them. If you look at a map, you will see that in the Roman Empire, Judea was about as far away from Rome as any area in the Empire.

            Although not prestigious, filling the role of procurator of Judea was no easy task. Prior to Pilate, Roman procurators had been careful not to offend the Jews. This courtesy included avoiding any public display of Roman flags and emblems. When Pilate took office, he lacked the political savvy to continue that practice of discretion. He was not careful to accommodate the Jews. He entered Jerusalem with standards emblazoned with the images of the Emperor Tiberius, making his job as procurator more difficult than it had been for his predecessors.

            Pilate’s arrogance offended and infuriated the Jews. Their second commandment dictated against worldly images, and they were wroth to witness Pilate’s flagrant display of contempt for their Holy City. For five days they petitioned him to remove the offensive standards, but he refused to hear their arguments, let alone consider them. When Pilate finally admitted the Jews to the judgment seat to be officially heard, he ordered his soldiers to surround them, and then he threatened them with instant death if they did not stop bothering him over the matter. The citizens of Jerusalem called his bluff. In open defiance, the outraged Jews threw themselves to the ground and bared their necks for the Roman swords, preferring to die rather than submit to the violation of their sacred laws. Outmaneuvered and outclassed—and not willing to kill so many—Pilate yielded and withdrew the standards. This political blunder at the beginning of his appointment highlighted his lack of talent and discretion. This one act embarrassed him and had a residual influence on all the actions of his subsequent career.

            Having learned little, Pilate later appropriated funds from the temple treasury and used them to complete an aqueduct that was to bring water to Jerusalem. Because the Jews reverenced the corban, or temple money, they were highly offended that their sacred funds had been used for this worldly purpose. Once again, Pilate faced a crowd of Jews, gathered in clamor against him.

            But this time Pilate did not ignore them for days or threaten their death. Instead, he ordered soldiers to disguise themselves as Jews and mingle with the crowd. On his signal, the soldiers attacked the unarmed Jews, beating them severely and quelling the riot. As one might expect, hatred for Pilate grew and festered in the hearts of his subjects.

            In a further attempt to establish his authority, Pilate later adorned his palace with gilded shields dedicated to the Emperor Tiberius. Outraged, the Jewish leaders circumvented their enemy-leader, petitioning directly to Tiberius, stating that the shields were hung less for his honor than for the annoyance of the Jewish people. Tiberius  granted their request, ordering the removal of the shields from the palace in Jerusalem. Pilate had these images transferred to the temple of Augustus at Caesarea.

            As procurator, Pilate was to act as an extension of Tiberius and did not want to displease him. He understood Tiberius’ tendency toward paranoia and knew he had to be somewhat careful, even that far from Rome. However, Pilate’s actions show his inability to plan beyond the scope of his own meager pride, a disabling weakness that kept him from adequately representing Tiberius. In contrast with his strategic and powerful emperor, Pilate was  wicked and self-absorbed. He appeared to spurn his subjects, the Jews, rather than to govern them efficiently. He may have retained a distaste for his appointment because of being sent so far away from the real seat of Power–-Rome.

            So Pilate is the man who, after the trials by the Jewish leaders, represented Rome in the final judgment of Christ. The Great Sanhedrin all too quickly after their deliberations arose, “And when they had bound him, they led him away, and delivered him to Pontius Pilate the governor.” When Christ was arrested the night before, Pilate was involved. The captains of the temple, mentioned by Luke, were controlled by the Sanhedrin, so their inclusion indicates the Sanhedrin’s explicit involvement in the scheme to arrest Jesus. John informs us that “a band of men” approached with Judas. The Greek word for “band” is “cohort,” a unit which numbers from 300-600 men and is one of ten divisions in a Roman Legion. This information leads us to believe that Pilate must have given approval to the use of his soldiers in arresting Jesus. All figured, there may have been as many as 600 men in the weapon-wielding mob that beset the unarmed Christ that quiet night. Many of those men arrived anxious for blood, unaware of the innocent blood that had already stained the now holy ground.

            After arresting Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, the Great Sanhedrin filled the following 24 hours with flagrant violations of the Rules of Procedure and Rules of Witnesses and Evidence that defined Hebrew trials, and then turned him over to Pilate.

            Christ’s trial before Pontius Pilate was held “. . . in a place that is called the Pavement, but in the Hebrew, Gabbatha.”¹ Gabbatha in Hebrew or Aramaic is equivalent to lithostroton, which is a stone courtyard of the Hall of Judgment. This Hall of Judgment was part of the palace in which Pilate resided when he was at Jerusalem.

            Mark also referred to this Hall of Judgment as the Prætorium, which is a Latin term for the hearing room portion of the Palace where the Roman Governor would transact public business. Pilate’s judgment seat was located in the Prætorium. His seat was a raised platform similar to a throne from which, as governor, he sat in judgment.

            This Hall of Judgment was located at the Fortress Antonia—a monumental military and governmental complex originally constructed by the Hasmoneans. It was re-constructed by Herod the Great on the northwest corner of the Temple. Herod renamed the Hasmonean Fortress the Antonia Fortress to honor his Roman friend Mark Anthony. The cohort of soldiers assisting in the arrest of Jesus was stationed at the Fortress to keep watch over the Temple Mount.

            In an outward display of piety on this feast day, the members of the Sanhedrin “. . . went not into the judgment hall, lest they should be defiled . . . .”²  Considering that the entire 24-hour period surrounding Gethsemane and Golgotha was replete with the Sanhedrin’s cruelties, lies, illegalities, and even murder, it seems absurd that they now feared defilement and its consequence—being denied the Passover feast. That moment of waiting outside the judgment hall was laden with irony.

            Pilate held court concerning Christ. He made his findings and had rendered his judgment, and, thus, the third and final part of the Roman trial—the Decision—had concluded. Or should have. Since Pilate was the extension of Tiberius Caesar, his authority was absolute. When Pilate rose and pronounced the verdict, “I find in him no fault at all,” it was an acquittal. Christ should have been let free. Case closed. Over. Done. Finished. Any future proceedings on those same charges would be illegal—as in trying a man twice for the same offense.

            Pilate addressed the chief priest, the rulers, and the people who were gathered at the urging of the Chief Priest, telling them that both he and Herod found no fault in Christ. Perhaps sensing their unyielding hearts, Pilate sought a solution through a Jewish tradition that coincided with the Feast of the Passover. On this feast day, it was a common practice for the Roman governor to release one prisoner to the people as a token of mercy. Pilate “. . . knew that the chief priests had delivered him [Christ] for envy”³ and that Christ was guiltless, so he asked the Jewish audience, “. . . ye have a custom, that I should release unto you one at the Passover: will ye therefore that I release unto you the King of the Jews?”⁴

            The very earth might have held her breath for a positive answer, yet all nature knew what dark deed must be done. In hellish unison the “. . . chief priests and elders persuaded the multitude that they should ask Barabbas, and destroy Jesus”⁵ (Matthew 27:20). They “. . . cried out all at once, saying, Away with this man, and release unto us Barabbas . . . . ”⁶

            When the inflamed crowd screamed for the release of Barabbas, Pilate rose from the judgment seat, indicating, according to Gentile tradition, that the trial had ended and no sentence would be imposed. Pilate’s refusal to sentence the Savior is not surprising, since he had already declared that he found no fault in him. The rising of the governor announced the innocence of the accused, and at that point Christ should have been set free.

            Then, standing by the judgment seat, Pilate performed the deed which would later bring him infamy. He performed a Jewish rite that symbolized innocence and freed the soul from innocent blood. “When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it. Then answered all the people, and said, His blood be on us, and on our children.”⁷ Never was a verdict of guilty pronounced.

            Just as the governor’s rising from the judgment seat should have caused the release of Christ, the hand washing should also have released him. But the hand washing did not free Christ from the cross or release Pilate from the responsibility. Even if washing his hands would have cleared Pilate’s guilt, he did it too soon, before his decree to scourge and then to crucify the Lord.

            Because the time lines of the four Gospels vary slightly in the hours surrounding the crucifixion, it is impossible to give an exact, moment-by-moment account of the event. But at some point, Pilate’s wife, Claudia, interrupted the trial by sending a warning to Pilate: “Have thou nothing to do with that just man: for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him.”⁸ Pilate was not unsympathetic, and would gladly have yielded to her, but his past had now caught up with him. Too many times he had offended the Jews. Too many times they had appealed to Caesar, complaining of Pilate’s injustices against the Jews. Pilate’s previous, careless acts now made it difficult for him to follow his conscience (or what was left of it) in judging Christ.

            Finally, Pilate reminded this already beaten and bloody man that, as governor, he had the power of life and death over Christ. He could order Christ’s crucifixion. It must have been an amazing scene. Pilate with his alleged power, wondering at Christ’s unwillingness to respond. The Christ, seemingly in a point of incredible weakness, with his piercing crown and his oozing blood. But from his gentle lips came the majestic proclamation: “. . . Thou couldest have no power at all against me, except it were given thee from above . . . .”⁹ Powerful words from one in such an apparent powerless position.

            But Pilate recognized in Christ something that the angry crowd outside the judgment hall did not, “And from thenceforth Pilate sought to release him . . . .”¹⁰ It was at this point that the Jews pronounced their most frightening argument for the crucifixion of Christ. To Pilate’s proposal of releasing Christ they cried out, “. . . If thou let this man go, thou art not Caesar’s friend: whosoever maketh himself a king speaketh against Caesar.”¹¹ It was a clever rebuttal, adding great pressure to Pilate, a direct representative of Tiberius Caesar—the paranoid emperor who had killed 52 people because he suspected they might want to take over his kingdom. Both Pilate and the Sanhedrin were well aware of Pilate’s tenuous standing with Tiberius Caesar.

            If Pilate let Christ go and word got back to Caesar that Christ had claimed to be a king, it might be the end of Pilate himself. Fearing Caesar more than Christ, “. . . he [Pilate] brought Jesus forth, and sat down in the judgment seat . . . .and he saith unto the Jews, Behold your King! But they cried out, Away with him, away with him, crucify him. Pilate saith unto them, Shall I crucify your King? The chief priests answered, We have no king but Caesar.”¹² “And they were instant [Greek: urging] with loud voices, requiring [Greek: demanding] that he might be crucified. And the voices of them and of the chief priests prevailed.”¹³ “Then delivered he him therefore unto them to be crucified. And they took Jesus, and led him away.”¹⁴

            It was not what Pilate had wanted. Throughout the trial, he had been emphatic in his defense of Christ’s innocence. In addition to declaring Christ’s innocence, throughout the Roman trials Pilate made four distinct maneuvers to avoid the responsibility of crucifying Christ. First, Pilate had tried to return Christ to the Sanhedrin. He had instructed, “. . . Take ye him, and judge him according to your law . . . .”¹⁵ Second, Pilate had sent Jesus to be judged by Herod. Third, Pilate had offered to free Jesus during the traditional releasing of a prisoner during Passover. And fourth, he had hoped that chastising (presumably the scourging) the innocent would satisfy the bloodthirsty Jews, making a crucifixion unnecessary.

            When Pilate saw that strict justice for Christ would threaten his position, he reluctantly and shamefully gave way to the demands of the Jews, sending Jesus to his death on the cross. Pilate should have followed his first inclinations and dismissed the case . . . but was not strong enough to carry out the correct decision.

            It was the illegal trials (Roman and Hebrew) of Christ that opened for all mankind the precious gifts of mercy and fairness. Sadly, there is only one thing in this life that one can count on to be fair—and it will be brilliantly fair for everyone.

            After this life in which we all experience moments of great sorrow and unfairness, we will each be judged by Christ, who has suffered all things with us, who knows and understands our hearts and desires. And without exception, for at least that one moment in our lives, we can all count upon perfect fairness. Christ’s judgment of us will be fair, unbiased, just. And as we kneel before him and observe the marks on his feet, we will all realize that our very salvation was made possible because of the illegal, unfair trial that Christ—our Lord and Savior, the Redeemer of all mankind—endured in Judea.

About the Author:

Steven W. Allen is a lawyer, an author and a popular speaker. He practices law in Mesa, Arizona., where he  resides with his wife, Linda. They have five wonderful children and 8 grandchildren. He is currently the teacher development leader in his ward. He is also a student of the scriptures and his background in the law brought him to a study of the most famous trial in history . . . the trial of Christ. He has taught a series of classes on this subject at BYU Campus Education Week for 14 years which led to his recently released book, The Illegal Trial of Christ. For more information visit www.IllegalTrialOfChrist.com.