So, when Pilate saw that he was gaining nothing, but rather that a riot was beginning, he took water and washed his hands before the crowd, saying, ‘I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.’

And all the people answered, ‘his blood be on us and on our children!’ 

Then he released for them Barabbas, and having scourged Jesus, delivered him to be crucified.  (Matthew 27:24-26)

The Gospel merely calls the prefect (or governor) of Judaea by the cognomen ‘Pilate’; in Greek, Πιλᾶτος (Pilatos), transliterated from the Latin pilatus, which means skilled with the pilum, the military spear of the Roman Army.

Extra Biblical sources supply his family name as Pontius, suggesting he was from the notable family of the Samnites, an ancient people from mountainous region of south, central Italy.  His praenomen (first name) is lost to time.

Pilate was of the equites class, the middle order from which governors were usually chosen.  Judaea had been brought under direct rule after the removal of the ethnarch, Archelaus, one of Herod the Great’s sons, in 6AD following a petition against him to the emperor Augustus.  While the rule of Samaria was given to his brother Herod Antipas, Idumea and especially Judaea were thought to be too troublesome for a proxy.  

Pilate was the fifth governor and, it is fair to infer, Judaea was not an appointment sought after or esteemed.  The emperor Tiberias, who chose Pilate, almost certainly bestowed this with faint hope that he would receive no report of unrest from his appointee to this querulous corner of his empire but did expect any insurgency to be dealt with by any means necessary.  In this Pilate achieved uneasy peace for Tiberius, and insurrection was deferred to the emperor’s successors, beginning with Vespasian in 66AD and ending with Hadrian in 135AD, when Judaism was banished, Jews forced into exile, and Judaea renamed Syria Palaestina.

For his part, Pilate had no choice in accepting his commission, but knew it was no particular vote of confidence in his abilities, let alone a sign of favour and his first impressions on arrival over sea from Brindisi are not known.  His weekly reports direct to imperial hand did not survive, but he may have been pleasantly surprised, because Caesarea Maritima was a modern Roman city.  Built adjacent a former Phoenician naval station, Strato’s Tower, by Herod the Great, Pilate could not have failed to be in awe of the purpose-built harbour – the largest man-made haven of its day – and pleased with his residence, Herod’s palace elegantly set on a promontory.  With its amphitheatre, pagan temples, hippodrome, this was a thoroughly cosmopolitan city, even hosting a five-year games, which was spectacle including athletic, gladiatorial and theatrical elements.

Caesarea was also the administrative, civic and military centre of Judaea and as such, Pilate would not have strayed from it any more than his duties required.  Much of Judaea was forbidding desert and alien to the Roman sensibility. Some regions were distinctly strange like the Dead Sea, that he would have known as Palus Asphaltites, because of the tar or asphalt that floated on its saline waters.  And as for its major city, Jerusalem was a place he would come to dislike, possibly even dread, because this was the heart of a nation that he neither understood nor admired.  If the geographical landscape was alienating, it was nothing to the cultural and religious one.  The Jews with their fanatical monotheism were incomprehensible to the enlightened neo-Platonic paganism that Rome inherited from the Greeks.  In this regard, Pilate typifies the antipathy between the Jew and the Roman; each thought the other venal, stupid and ‘dirty’ – the Roman predilection with hygiene meant they looked on others as unsavoury, while despite their frequent bathing, to the Jews, the Romans were as all Gentiles, ‘unclean’.     

On arrival and in common with any governor of a Roman province, Pilate knew he had two objectives, the first was to ensure taxes were paid and the second to quell any trouble.   

On taxation, the gospels clearly show Jewish preoccupation and resentment.  The tax collector, or publicani (transliterating to ‘publican’) are the supreme objects of hate.  This we see from first criticism of Jesus that he dined with tax collectors and sinners (see Luke 5:30).  Clearly, publicans were a class apart alongside another form of the deplored, prostitutes. 

As to the absence of conflict or insurrection, as noted, an uneasy peace was the best Pilate could offer Tiberius.  Among the Jews, Roman rule was not simply limited to the general resentment of the occupied, nor was the objection lack of autonomy – in many respects Judaea was let to rule itself – it was that Israel held itself to be a theocracy.

Despite religious freedom, including the Romans respecting the Sabbath and the Pilgrim Festivals, it was then on religious grounds that Jews fiercely objected.  God ruled Israel, not a man, and certainly not one who had deified himself.

It may have been against character for the capricious, yet cautious Tiberias, but he did not reverse the institution of his father-in-law, Augustus, who allowed himself to be called the divi filius, ‘son of God’, when Julius Caesar, his adoptive father, was retrospectively deified by the Roman Senate in 42BC.  

The emperor’s image was obviously doubly offensive to the Jews as the Law of Moses forbade any other god and any graven image (the first two of the ten commandments).  When Jesus was challenged over paying taxes to Caesar, Jesus audaciously drew attention to the blasphemous image (Mark 12:16); the coin, a denarius, may have been one newly minted with an abbreviated inscription that stood for ‘Caesar Augustus Tiberius, son of the Divine Augustus’ surrounding the head of Tiberius in profile.  

Thus, it can be surmised that Pilate set about his commission with not only scant enthusiasm, but also apparently little or no attempt to understand his province or its people; therefore, it was only a matter of time before he made mistakes – which, given the primary objective to rule peacefully, would not have been deliberate provocations, but nonetheless caused great affront.

The emperor’s image also featured on the military standards, and Pilates’ first blunder came when he put them on public display to advertise his first visit to Jerusalem, hoisting them high on the walls of Antonia Citadel that abutted and overlooked the Temple.  He only backed down when protesting Jews showed themselves indifferent to Roman swords, preferring death to toleration of the outrage.  Doubtless, bemused and angry in equal part, Pilate backed down and the standards were returned to Caesarea. 

His next misstep came from what might have been meant as a gesture to appease the Jews.  Pilate undertook a civil project from which Jerusalem would benefit.  On Pilate’s radar was John the Baptist as he needed to closely monitor any rabble-rousing that might foment revolt; however, as the preacher was based beyond his jurisdiction being that of Antipas, and in any case seemed to restrict his ire to that of his own kind, especially those that administered the Temple, he left John to the tetrarch.  As for his ranting, if it was about making ‘paths straight’ (Mark 1:3) or as his ‘replacement’ Jesus spoke of, ‘streams of living water’ (John 7:38); well, he may have thought to himself, we Romans specialise in constructing good roads and conveying fresh water!

Pilate chose the latter and built an aqueduct from the springs of Wadi el Arab to Bethlehem to replenish Solomon’s Pools, whence Herod’s aqueducts supplied Jerusalem.  Some forty miles long, this lead-lined marvel should have inspired, if not gratitude, then recognition that he was a ‘good shepherd’ – a Biblically resonate phrase the Roman historian, Suetonius, recorded Tiberius employing to describe the benevolent role of prefect.  

Whatever Pilate’s intentions or hopes, this public work garnered no acclaim because the rumour quickly circulated that Pilate had diverted Temple monies to fund the project.  If the misappropriation of ‘corban’ by the Pharisees drew criticism from Jesus (Mark 7:11) – and nothing could compare with ultimate misuse as a bribe to induce Judas Iscariot to betray Jesus – Pilate’s infraction and then mishandling of their grievance led to a confrontation in which this time Jewish blood was spilt.  

This was unnecessarily brought to the attention of Jesus:

There were some present at that very time who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices.  (Luke 13:1)

As usual, Jesus of Galilee was not drawn by any fellow feeling to make political comment.

While any act of suppression might make difficult reading for Tiberius in his weekly report to Caesar, especially if in reaction to Pilate’s own actions, it was preferable to reading letters of complaint about his prefecture.   Subsequently, another miscalculation on Pilate’s part resulted in grievances being addressed to, and sympathetically received by Caesar.   Yet, it many ways what prompted this might seem the mildest of his infractions; an essentially private act in which Pilate commissioned and hung ‘shields’ in his residences, including Herod’s palace in Jerusalem.   

The hanging of such a shield, or ‘aspedeion’, was common practice in Roman households.  Designed not for warfare and often ornate – Pilate’s were gold-plated – they were not merely decorative, but devotional being consecrated in honour of the gods, one of whom would be the deified emperor.  While this might seem an obsequious act, none should deny Pilate sincere religious conviction.

Ironically, given their dedication to Tiberius, the emperor was not disposed to either defend or exonerate Pilate but upheld the petition by the Jews.  Pilate was roundly rebuked in writing and, shame-faced, ordered to take down the shields – but at least, he was not recalled to Rome.  In similar circumstances, Tiberius was known to meet out terrible and inventive punishments to failing functionaries.  Worse than a gruesome death was denigration; the immortality that mattered to the Roman was posterity and the expunging of his family name, Pontius, would be feared most.

As the timing of this final mishap is estimated to be 31AD, we can assume that when Jesus was brought before Pilate two years later, while he may not have been still smarting from the humiliation, he was well aware he was on a final warning and consequently, felt weakened – to the extent that he even had to self-advocate his authority in front of his curiously impassive prisoner.

‘You will not speak to me? Do you not know that I have authority to release you and authority to crucify you?’ 

Jesus answered him, ‘you would have no authority over me at all unless it had been given you from above.’  (John 19:10-11)

Paul would echo this:

Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God.  (Romans 13:1)

So whatever his deficits, he was God’s choice. Yet if Pilate was a flawed man, there is no reason to think he was greatly so.  His contemporary, the Hellenistic Jewish philosopher, Philo, paints a picture of Pilate as proud and cunning, even facetious, but this was the man God had Tiberius (unwittingly) appoint, and Jesus deferred to him.  

What is clear though, is that Pilate was incredulous about the charges brought against Jesus and wanted to whole thing to go away.  Condemning an innocent man would mean little to him, political expediency not justice was all that mattered.  For what Pilate could not afford was another incident being brought to attention of Tiberius.

What of his character, then?  Much has been inferred from the scant evidence, too much, no doubt.  The gospels give little away, in reality.  His values are more easily discerned.  Of more importance was the context of mutual incomprehension between Jew and Roman. Some have thought him antisemitic. Yet, racial superiority only goes so far to explain this exchange with Jesus.  

Pilate entered his headquarters again and called Jesus and said to him, ‘are you the King of the Jews?’ 

Jesus answered, “Do you say this of your own accord, or did others say it to you about me?’

Pilate answered, ‘am I a Jew? Your own nation and the chief priests have delivered you over to me. What have you done?’  (John 18:33-35)

This sounds haughty, embittered even.  But this is not hard evidence of the anti-Semitism of his mentor, Sejanus, who may have mentored Pilate and brought him to the attention of Tiberius.  

Another aspect laid at his door is that he was uneducated soldier promoted above his abilities, a brutish man there to exercise the one attribute he possessed, a pension for cruelty.  But in truth, he acted with no greater cruelty than many of his contemporaries, and his education was at least as well-rounded as any of his class.

More likely, Pilate’s reaction to the Sanhedrin’s arraignment of Jesus speaks more to his disillusion with his job and Judaea; he was probably heartedly sick of the Jews and their interminable and unfathomable internal squabbling.  True, as this often centred on some odd concept of a ‘deliverer’, whom they referred to as their Messiah, he was forced to pay attention, in case that someone would emerge to challenge Rome.  Yet, this Jesus of Nazareth showed no such political ambition, seemingly unworldly and distinctly unthreatening.  

His attitude toward the Sanhedrin suggests exasperation, even contempt for their machinations; but there is also a sense of ennui, his dismissiveness smacks of boredom and frustration.

Yet lack of interest, even Stoic curiosity, waning after a few years, does not translate to disinterest and he was far from impartial – nor could he afford to be; in crucifying Jesus, he acted entirely expediently in the interest of Rome, if not to secure his own skin.  Moreover, he had every faith that his handling of the accusation against Jesus and his substitution though pardoning of Barabbas, was actually him exercising ‘good’ judgment in respect of his role, and would be seen to be so in Rome.

So, Pilate’s real failure may be found on personal level rather professional, in that he did pursue his own crucial question posed to Jesus at the conclusion of this exchange:

‘My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would have been fighting, that I might not be delivered over to the Jews. But my kingdom is not from the world.’ 

Then Pilate said to him, ‘so you are a king?’ 

Jesus answered, ‘you say that I am a king. For this purpose, I was born and for this purpose I have come into the world—to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth listens to my voice.’ 

Pilate said to him, ‘what is truth?’  (John 18:36-37)

Many think this was rhetorical; or Pilate, world weary, even defeated by recent events, was uninterested in any reply; but, in any case, the truth was not to found in the reply that never came; the truth was in front of him – if only he had listened as Jesus told him, to the witness of eternal truth.

Mostly though, the gospels only show that Pilate played the hand dealt to him; he was in an invidious position, caught between a capricious emperor who had undermined him and a confounding people.  On that fateful Passover, he took the easy, unprincipled route out of trouble.

Pilate again said to them, ‘then what shall I do with the man you call the King of the Jews?’

And they cried out again, ‘crucify him.’

And Pilate said to them, ‘why, what evil has he done?’ 

But they shouted all the more, ‘crucify him.’ 

So, Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released for them Barabbas, and having scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified.  (Mark 15:12-15)

This image that came to define Pilate as the people-pleaser and self-exonerator, ‘washing his hands’ of the blood of Christ, if not unfair, is perhaps too harsh.  Having found ‘no guilt in Jesus’ (John 19:6) he gave way to the baying crowds, and pragmatically averted a riot and imperial censure.

Pilate is often linked with Judas, in being particularly culpable for Jesus’ death.  Yet, the Gospel of Christ suggests no such thing, as Jesus’ forgiveness from the cross would extend to Pilate, not simply the soldiers complying with their commander’s orders.  When fifty days later, the Spirit-filled Peter places the blame, it is not on Pilate.

‘Men of Israel, hear these words: Jesus of Nazareth, a man attested to you by God with mighty works and wonders and signs that God did through him in your midst, as you yourselves know – this Jesus, delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men.  (Acts 2:22-23)

Pilate was merely one of those ‘lawless men’, a phrase meaning those without the Law of Moses, in other words, a Gentile.  Pilate will answer to God and by faith, all can trust God will be merciful and just in all his judgments, but the Gospel of Christ states that Jesus died for all sin, hence Pilate’s are not unique or especially heinous.