in the name of the hoary old gods who hitherto had let off their worshippers on much easier terms. The dismal failure of this last attempt at the restoration of paganism with which its reformation was to go hand in hand was a plain proof that the whole system was outworn. With all his enthusiasm Julian's desperate efforts had proved to be no better than the galvanising of a corpse. It is true that paganism was not actually extinguished for years to come; indeed it is with us to-day, for it is inherent in human nature. The Church was able to make a place for it by developing her hagiology, which sheltered the ancient superstitions of the dead pantheon. But Julian's failure demonstrated once for all that the old cult of the gods, open and recognised, had gone, and gone for ever.
The simple soldier Jovian whom the army voted into the high position of emperor to rescue it from the Persians was an orthodox Christian, who, as Theodoret states,[1] hesitated to accept the honour till he was assured of the Christian sympathies, and with his accession to power the brief gleam of sunshine which had broken out so unexpectedly on the fading faith of the old regime died away never to revive. Not only paganism, but its sometime ally Arianism, also suffered by the accession of an emperor who belonged to the Nicene party. Jovian lost no time in reversing the policy of his predecessor, giving an early indication of this change by restoring the Labarum which Julian had laid aside. He issued an edict granting full religious liberty to his subjects. This was a revival of Constantine's large-minded statesmanship; it permitted Arianism and even paganism—which Constantius had persecuted. The immunities of the clergy were restored and the grants of public moneys for widows and consecrated virgins in the Church renewed. Jovian issued a decree condemning to death any who forced these virgins into marriage or even proposed marriage to them. Athanasius was now the greatest figure in the Church. Julian, after
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