by Paul L Maier
Chapter 21
In Caesarea, Pilate was surprised to find that much of the populace knew of the events in Jerusalem during the recent Passover. He had hoped the news would not penetrate the other world represented at his capital, but returning Jewish pilgrims carried back every incident, every rumor. He was concerned that reports of his role during that festival week could damage his prestige as governor. Strangely, this was not the case. Most Jews appreciated his deferring to the Sanhedrin, while those who sympathized with Jesus’ cause looked back at his crucifixion only through the happy lens of the resurrection. And the large gentile element at Caesarea was not interested in what had transpired at Jerusalem, regarding Jesus only as a curiosity.
Pilate wanted to forget the entire episode, and in a way it was easy to do. The news and the rumors from Rome were certainly important enough to refocus his attention on the political puzzle there. After the fall of Sejanus, most Romans had confidently expected the party of Agrippina to stage a major comeback, beginning with her return from exile. But the inscrutable Tiberius had not recalled his daughter-in-law. Though her eldest son had died, there were hopes that Drusus, her second son, might now be released from his subterranean prison in the Palatine palace to assume the role of heir apparent.
Fresh news arriving in the port of Caesarea canceled that expectation for Procula, who had always sympathized with Agrippina. The distraught Drusus, all hope of release exhausted, had begun to curse Tiberius. His blasts were carefully recorded by his guards, and later read to the Senate. No more meals were brought to Drusus’s cell. The hapless youth spent the final eight days of his life chewing the stuffing out of his mattress in a delirious quest for nourishment.
Mother Agrippina fared little better. Crushed by the loss of her second son, she starved herself to death on the isle of Pandateria. By a quirk of fate, she died the same day on which her archenemy Sejanus had been executed two years earlier. Hardly saddened by these tidings, Tiberius boasted to the Senate that at least Agrippina had not been strangled or thrown down the Stairs of Mourning, as would have befitted her treason and masculine ambition. The conscript fathers thanked the princeps for his mercy.
To Pilate and Procula, it was a clear revelation that Tiberius had always been suspicious of Agrippina and her brood. While Sejanus had played on this suspicion for his own advancement, the emperor’s mistrust lingered on even after the prefect had been swept away. But there was a last son of Agrippina to whom the aging princeps showed some favor, Gaius, the youngest. He was called Caligula, which meant “Little Boots,” or “Bootsie,” a nickname conferred on him by the troops of his father Germanicus when, as a small boy, he strutted about in his own little soldier’s uniform, complete with miniature boots. Tiberius had sheltered Caligula from the schemes of Sejanus by keeping him at Capri. Shrewdly, the youth avoided showing any grief at the destruction of his mother and brothers lest he be sent their way. Instead, he carefully aped the moods and fancies of the princeps, answering his every whim. Rome sensed that a grooming process was underway, and that Tiberius’s teenage understudy on Capri would likely succeed him. Caligula now celebrated his marriage to the daughter of a senator, and, like all higher officials in the Empire, the prefect of Judea was careful to honor the heir apparent with a present, a large and handsomely wrought silver urn from Phoenicia.
Occasionally Pilate thought back to the events in Jerusalem. Despite all his arguments before Procula in defense of his conduct, a nagging twinge of conscience told him that he had not played a hero’s role in the Jewish capital, and that either an innocent man had gone to the cross from his tribunal, or someone guilty of religious indiscretions had been punished too severely. He cursed his removing the jus gladii from the Sanhedrin. If he hadn’t, the case of Jesus of Nazareth would never have crossed his tribunal. Damn Sejanus! Damn his needling pressure!
Pilate wanted to forget. But events seemed to conspire to prevent his forgetting. Jerusalem was a hotbed of rumor. There were reports that the risen Jesus had been sighted on a mountain in Galilee, by the shore of the Sea of Tiberias, around the suburbs of Jerusalem. Later accounts even had it that he had soared into the heavens, leaving the earth at the Mount of Olives.
But the stories which both amused and yet alarmed Pilate concerned the resiliency of Jesus’ adherents. Inexplicably, instead of running off to Galilee and hiding, his disciples were braving the ire of the Sanhedrin and remaining in Jerusalem. And they weren’t being very quiet about it either. The tribune at the Antonia wrote that on a Jewish holiday called Pentecost, he had led a squad of men to control a crowd which had gathered round the house where Jesus’ followers were staying. They were addressing the people in a dozen different languages, so that all visiting pilgrims would be able to understand. Some thought it was gibberish and jeered, “They’re all drunk!” That was when the impressive hulk of a man, Peter, smiled good-naturedly and replied, “No…we haven’t been drinking. It’s only nine o’clock in the morning!” That brought a laugh which Peter used to launch into some kind of moving oratory, the tribune wrote, for afterward about three thousand of the crowd joined Peter’s cause. Pilate might be interested in a phrase from Peter’s address: “By the deliberate plan of God, you used pagan gentiles to crucify Jesus of Nazareth. But God restored him to life again, and made him both Lord and Messiah.”
Pilate replied by return courier that the tribune was to keep the movement under close surveillance. The fact that three thousand should suddenly wish to join the following of someone who had been crucified seven weeks earlier was both incredible and ominous. Any seditious preaching or any resort to arms was to be reported at once. As to Peter’s statement that it was by their god’s determination that the Jews used Pilate and his Roman auxiliaries for the execution, he could make no sense of it. Why should the Hebrew god want Romans to do the dirty work?
The tribune’s next report stated that there was nothing undercover about the movement. The leaders taught the people openly in the temple. One afternoon, two of them healed a lifelong cripple who was a fixture at one of the temple gates. When the worshipers saw him dancing around the precincts for joy, they ran up to the disciples in amazement. Again it was Peter who preached a powerful message and several thousand more joined their cause. He said nothing treasonable. He didn’t even mention Rome except to tell the people that they had repudiated the innocent Jesus when Pilate wanted to release him. At least they had the story straight, the tribune commented, and apparently they bore no deep grudge against the prefect. But the captain of the temple guard arrested the two disciples and threw them into prison. Next day, the Sanhedrin heard their case, but finally let them off with a warning, since they could hardly condemn men who had just healed a cripple.
When the commandant’s third report arrived, Pilate was beginning to wish the man were not so faithful a correspondent, since this message would probably contain more of the inexplicable. He was not disappointed. Jerusalem now reverberated with interest in the risen Jesus, the tribune wrote, and the wonders of healing the disciples were performing in his name. Townspeople were actually carrying the beds of their sick into the streets so that the disciples might cure them. Again the religious establishment tried to check the movement by arresting its leaders, but they escaped from prison and resumed their teaching in the temple. At another hearing before the Sanhedrin, they were ordered to stop their missionizing. They refused, claiming, “We must obey God rather than men.” A motion was introduced to condemn them to death, but it was defeated when Rabbi Gamaliel advised leaving them alone. The movement was either of human or divine origin, he argued. If human, it would collapse of itself, as had the causes of all pseudo-Messiahs before Yeshu Hannosri; but if divine, it would he irresistible, for who could fight God? The Sanhedrin had the disciples flogged and then discharged with a warning. Nevertheless, they were carrying on and winning more converts. But no, the tribune wrote, nothing they preached seemed politically dangerous. On the other hand, if the prefect wished them detai
ned for questioning he would arrest them.
Pilate wondered what to do about this “Jewish subsect in-the-making,” as he now styled the Jesus-inspired movement. Arrest the nucleus of leaders? No. No, for the same reason that the Sanhedrin probably took no action. One religio-political trial had been quite enough at this time for both the Jewish and the Roman hierarchy. No, because the disciples seemed innocent of charges which would concern Rome, though the rate at which they were attracting adherents was disturbing. No, since it was even a little gratifying to see how a dead man could inspire this kind of loyalty. No, because he couldn’t care less if the Jews, who were already fractured into various competing groups and parties, should now spawn an additional tiny and insignificant offshoot, call them Jesusians, Nazarenes, Messians, or whatever. They would linger a short time, he confidently predicted, and then die out.
Procula was unabashedly happy to learn that her husband had no plans to arrest Jesus’ followers. She fairly thrived on reports about what the disciples were doing.
But the distance from Jerusalem and the time since the Passover tended to blur for Pilate the inexplicable events which had once so troubled him. Perhaps the contagious religiosity of the city had temporarily addled his wits. From cool and dispassionate Caesarea, he wondered why he became so involved in the fate of one solitary and inscrutable Jew. But time was banishing it all from memory.
Then, as if in Hades’s own conspiracy to remind him, came a letter from the least-expected source Pilate could possibly imagine: Thrasyllus, Tiberius’s court astrologer on Capri.
Tiberius Claudius Thrasyllus to Pontius Pilatus, greeting. If you are in health, it is well. I also and the princeps are well.
Seven years have passed since our fateful luncheon at The Grotto. At that time you promised me a small favor, Prefect, but it was never done. I refer to the star or comet which hovered over Judea almost forty years ago. You were to consult the priests in Jerusalem about it and report to me.
What reminded me to inquire about this was the strange celestial event which occurred in the afternoon of the Friday following the Calends of April. A great darkness moved across the horizon from the southeastern Mediterranean and blackened our sky for several hours. Since it seemed to approach from your direction and from Egypt, please consult any local astrologer for an explanation. The phenomenon has upset my astrological calculations ever since that time. The princeps is also concerned. May I hear from you before another seven years elapse? Farewell.
Pilate knew that the uncanny darkness at the time of the crucifixion had covered all of Palestine, but he was absolutely astounded that it had also penetrated as far as Rome.
He had always disliked Thrasyllus, and the astrologer knew it, which is why he carefully included the remark about the emperor sharing his concern. Whether it was true or not Pilate could not afford to guess, but it was common knowledge that Tiberius now spent much time on his astrological hobby in the uppermost of his lavish villas on Capri, where he had fashioned an occult observatory. Too, Thrasyllus’s granddaughter had married the new praetorian prefect Macro. The letter would have to be answered.
After consulting Caesarea’s one astrologer, Pilate replied to Thrasyllus, apologizing that he had not written sooner. Yes, he had learned a little about the star. Gratus, his predecessor, told him it had attracted some eastern magi to Jerusalem who were looking for a king of the Jews, but they had been referred to a nearby town instead. If he wanted more details, he could consult Gratus in Rome, since the Jerusalem priests remembered little of the event. As to the darkness, it had indeed engulfed Judea at the stated time, but the local astrologer simply could not explain it. An earth tremor had accompanied the darkness, but the event remained a total mystery.
Pilate thought of mentioning the coincidence of the darkness with the crucifixion of another “king of the Jews,” but he rejected the idea. With his astrologer’s mind, Thrasyllus would surely belabor the coincidence.
The question of whether he ought to submit to Tiberius a special, detailed report on the crucifixion of Jesus had occurred to Pilate. It would demonstrate both his obedience to the imperial directive that he honor Jewish laws, and also his loyalty in crucifying someone who dared call himself king while Tiberius lived. On the other hand, in his now-metaphysical frame of mind, the princeps might become unduly interested in a religious luminary who had called himself a son of God, and he might even criticize Pilate for condemning him. Conversely, in a paranoid twist, Tiberius might suspect a great eastern conspiracy against him and punish Pilate for not rounding up and crucifying the entire following of the would-be king, rather than just the ringleader. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.
Legally, of course, he would have to include some notice of Jesus’ execution in his official acta or annual report which he submitted to Tiberius. When he drew this up at the close of the year 33, the following extracts appeared in Pilate’s acta under the section entitled, “Judiciary Acts”:
…ages 38 and 41, respectively.
Both highway robbers, convicted of theft and murder perpetrated between Jericho and Jerusalem on March 26, A.V.C. 786. Accusatores: five eyewitnesses among Galilean pilgrims attending the Passover festival in Jerusalem. Tried on April 2; sentenced, crucified, and died on April 3, A.V.C. 786, in Jerusalem.
IESVS BAR-ABBAS, age 45
Son of a rabbi; resistance leader. Accused of murder and insurrection, but released prior to trial, as requested by the Great Sanhedrin and the citizens of Jerusalem by reason of the annual Passover amnesty, April 3, A.V.C. 786, in Jerusalem.
IESVS NAZARENVS, age 36
Galilean teacher, “prophet,” and pseudo-Messiah. Case was remanded to the jurisdiction of the tetrarch Herod Antipas, who waived his authority and returned the defendant for Roman trial. Convicted of capital blasphemy by the Great Sanhedrin, with verdict endorsed by the prefect. Also convicted of constructive treason for claiming to be “Rex ludaeorum:” Accusatores: Joseph Caiaphas, high priest, and the Great Sanhedrin. Tried, sentenced, crucified, and died on April 3, A.V.C. 786, in Jerusalem.
During the early months of 34, domestic affairs seemed to be running smoothly in Palestine. Pilate’s truce with the Herodian tetrarchs was holding rather well, and there was no threatening correspondence from Rome. But death now staged a dramatic interruption in cutting down the popular tetrarch Philip, who had married his dancing niece Salome. Since Philip left no children, Herod Antipas was hoping the emperor might award his tetrarchy to him, which would double the lands under his control. But instead, Philip’s territory was attached to the province of Syria.
The time had come for Pilate to see if either his Syrian or Egyptian fences needed mending. To the north, the four Roman legions in Syria stood especially high in Tiberius’s favor, since they alone had not hung images of Sejanus among their military standards, and the emperor had rewarded them handsomely for this prudent gesture. The recently arrived commander of these now-elite forces, Pomponius Flaccus, represented a new quantum of power on Pilate’s horizon, since for the first time in his experience, Syria was not ruled by an absentee governor. He planned to pay Flaccus a visit during the spring of 35, but fate seemed to cherish a vacant post for Syria. Flaccus suddenly died before Pilate could make the trip.
On the southern frontier, he stayed in close touch with Avillius Flaccus, the prefect of Egypt, where the people were astir about a resurrection story of another kind. After a heroic absence of many centuries, the wondrous phoenix had been sighted again, that remarkable bird which supposedly lived hundreds of years, then died and virtually came to life again in its one offspring, which also lived for centuries. On a more serious level, Flaccus warned Pilate of possible anti-Roman developments among the peoples of the Near East. On a scouting trip up the Nile, he had discovered caches of contraband arms which were to be used in a planned insurrection. He could not know what the situation was in Judea, but he advised Pilate to be on his guard.
Yet, in pleasant contrast to the turmoil tw
o years earlier, Judea seemed quite serene. In fact, Pilate had only one altercation with the Sanhedrin. It concerned a follower of Jesus named Stephen, whose brilliance in preaching the new faith had led to his trial for blasphemy before the Sanhedrin. His defense was so bold that he was pulled outside the walls of Jerusalem and stoned to death. When Pilate learned of it in Caesarea, he dispatched a caustic note to Caiaphas which protested the stoning as contrary to Roman law and warned against any such incidents in the future. Apologetically, the high priest promised he would try to prevent anything similar from happening again, though he did reserve the Sanhedrin’s right to counteract the growing movement of the Nazarene.
It was another of the items which reminded Pilate of that fateful Passover, but in this case he merely felt vindicated. “See, Procula,” he contended, “if I hadn’t been in Jerusalem for that Passover, they would have stoned Jesus in precisely the same way as this Stephen and called it a mob action which could not be prevented.”
Her answer was unbending. “But you were in Jerusalem.”
A shock in Pilate’s private life at Caesarea was what he called the “spiritual defection” of Cornelius. Responding to his wife’s genuine Judaism, the centurion had had their first child, a boy, circumcised. And now he himself became a near-convert to the Jewish faith. Indulging a traditional Roman prejudice, Pilate found it difficult to accept Cornelius’s new religious allegiance. The centurion tried to explain that he was not a full proselyte; he just admired and shared the Jewish belief in one God. He claimed it was a magnificent substitute for the gods and goddesses of Roman paganism which Pilate himself despised. But his interest in Judaism should in no way affect their close friendship, Cornelius insisted.