The Last Pagan： Why Julian Failed and Christianity Triumphed

Of all the remarkable pharaohs who ruled over ancient Egypt over the thousands of years of its history, Tutankhamun is by far the most famous. This is ironic, as the boy king had a short, rather undistinguished reign, and at first glance his achievements barely seemed to stack up to other, more notable pharaohs such as Thutmose III, Ramses the Great, or the impressive female Tutankhamun's fame is instead chiefly a result of the fact that his tomb was discovered by modern archaeologists and not ancient grave robbers. When his tomb was unearthed in 1922, the world marveled at the lavish wealth and magnificence of the Egyptian pharaohs, despite the fact that since he was a relatively lackluster ruler, Tutankhamun's tomb was actually quite humble by Egyptian standards. But there must be some pushback on the oversimplified narrative regarding the insignificance of Tutankhamun, for a pivotal decision was made during his reign, albeit likely by advisors who controlled the boy king during his early regency. This decision would have a monumentous effect on Egyptian history, and threw it, the shaping of culture and religion, down to the modern era, and could very well go down as one of the most important policy decisions ever made. Tutankhamun is credited with renouncing and reversing the unprecedented religious reforms of his father, Akhenaten, that had oriented Egypt away from the cults of its traditional polytheistic pantheon which had formed the backbone of Egyptian religious practice for millennia. For the old pharaoh Akhenaten had pushed Egypt towards the worship of a single god. As the absolute monarch, Tutankhamun's father Akhenaten had had the ability to reorient how all of Egypt related to the supernatural based on his own private religious convictions, and had his decree that all Egypt worship only the divine sun disk known as Aten been honored, then it is likely that Egyptian religion would have had a greater influence on the Abrahamic monotheism developing in nearby Israel. Who knows, with monotheism's greater ability to inspire unity and devotion among its adherents, Atenism may even have emerged as a powerful world religion that was still able to claim followers even today. But this was not to be, and just as easily as one pharaoh had dismissed polytheism in favor of the worship of a single god, it was reinstated when his son was crowned pharaoh only a few years later. Momentous religious changes like this can be a tough sell, even when backed by all the power and influence of an absolutist monarch. This lesson would be learned by the Roman emperor Julian, who is known to us today as Julian the Apostate precisely because he failed in his bid to resurrect the dying polytheistic religion of Rome after a previous emperor had declared his allegiance to a new monotheistic faith. Had Julian succeeded, his sobriquet would likely be much more endearing, probably something along the lines of Julian the Restorer. But why exactly did Julian fail when Tutankhamun had succeeded? From a historical perspective, Christianity's triumph was not inevitable, and during Julian's reign Christians still probably accounted for under half of the empire's total population. It seems to beggar all belief that a driven emperor like Julian was unable to reverse the terminal decline in pagan belief and practice. But the extent of his failure only serves to reveal the impossibility of his task. Roman paganism was dying, and no one man, not even an emperor, was capable of saving it. But even if it was in the power of a single individual to restore the primacy of paganism, Julian was not the man best suited to lead a religious revival. Though typically viewed today as a wise statesman and enlightened ruler, in reality he was anything but. He was not a fearless campaigner for logic, rationality, and tolerance, but rather a mystic who relied on his own private divine revelations and was intolerant of those who doubted his wisdom and divine purpose. The false recollection of Julian as the final proponent of classic Greek virtues makes him a better tragic literary character, but it is out of sync with what we know of the man. Julian became sole emperor on November 3rd, 361, and though all members of the imperial house had practiced Christianity since the conversion of his uncle Constantine, Julian wasted little time in making his true religious convictions known by declaring his support for Hellenistic polytheism. It must be stressed that Christianity had only been the imperial religion for about 50 years at the time of Julian's ascension, and that in the ensuing decades, paganism had not yet faced anything similar to the persecutions that had constrained Christian practice for the first 300 years after Jesus' death. This is understandable, as despite the new religious predilections of the emperor and highly educated city dwellers, during Julian's reign, the majority of his subjects were still pagan. Spurred on by imperial patronage, Christianity had made remarkable strides since the conversion of Constantine, but pagan practice was dominant in the countryside, meaning that the wealthy landowners of the old aristocracy would emerge as Julian's biggest supporters, both as he sought to shore up support for his claim to and as he reignited the struggle between Rome's old gods and the new creed. In fact, the efforts to resurrect paganism can in many ways be best seen as a struggle between two distinct power bases for control of the imperial court. Established rural families, whose wealth was primarily tied to land and slaves, flocked to Julian, not just because he broadly shared their outlook, but because they hoped he could restore their influence at court that had been eroded by the educated new men who had achieved wealth and status primarily through merit and not through birth. Because their influence depended on imperial favor, they were overwhelmingly Christian. So the religious divide between these two factions is just another layer to a deeper grudge, a tension between more conservative rural landowners and cultured urban elites that recurs in monarchies throughout history. Julian may have expected the court officials to renounce their faith to maintain imperial favor. However, few did so, and by pressing hard for religious reform, Julian only succeeded in alienating a key power block. Another, perhaps more significant reason that Julian's restoration never took root is that though he carried the banner of tradition, Julian was not a polytheist in the same sense as his ancestors. His theology was in fact as radical a departure from the pagan practice of early Rome as the Christianity favored by Constantine. Julian's esoteric beliefs differed greatly from traditional paganism, making it difficult for his polytheist subjects to truly identify with the creed advanced by their new champion. His beliefs were heavily influenced by Neoplatonic philosophy, particularly the teachings of an eccentric charlatan named Maximus of Ephesus. Julian interpreted the foundational pagan myths as allegories, and even characterized the gods themselves as avatars of greater philosophical truths and concepts. While convincing Roman traditionalists to accept this view was always going to be an uphill battle, it was complicated by the fact that Julian had arrived at these conclusions not through rigorous philosophical study and the application of logic, but through a series of divine revelations that were of course private to him alone. Talks of his visions were never going to be enough to convince Julian's conservative allies to abandon the same traditions that they had clung to despite the rise of Christianity. But Julian even embraced certain aspects of the monotheist religion that he was attempting to stamp out. Though he certainly believed in the old gods of Roman paganism, Julian was chiefly devoted to a new divinity named King Helios that he identified as the supreme god above all others. This new sun god was largely Julian's own invention, and few seemed to feel the need for a new supreme deity when there were already existing avenues for monotheist practice. In launching a new henotheist religion that combined what he saw as the merits of both polytheism and monotheism, Julian had in fact isolated himself from both camps. His compromise pleased no one. Another reason that few found his new religion endearing was its incredibly ascetic character. If Julian despised the tenets of Christianity, he was deeply drawn to the religion's emphasis on moral behavior, the personal nature of faith, and the prioritization of orthodox interior belief. He even attempted to create a unifying catechism that would unite all pagan practice under a new and imperially approved set of beliefs and guidelines. This pagan dogma was to be enforced by an imperially aligned religious organization modeled after the Catholic Church, with pagan priests to be held to high standards for their Viewed in this context, Julian does not appear as an antidote to the religious absolutism of Constantine, but rather someone who is just as committed to the project of growing imperial power through religion, albeit using a different creed. Julian's proposals were utterly alien to meaning that they appealed neither to those who believed in the old gods nor those who were dissatisfied with traditional religion. The already existing alternative of Christianity seemed much more reasonable to those looking for a personal relationship with the divine than the religion which Julian had developed, as there was a greater intellectual tradition and much more coherence to the religion that was over 300 years old than the one which had just invented. The hesitance of pagans to embrace his creed and the unwillingness of Christians to renounce their beliefs seemed to have perplexed Julian, as he believed that his new religion was the height of rationality and sophistication. But we should hardly be surprised that he found the religion so satisfying. After all, he is the one who made it up. Each of these reasons provides some insight into Julian's failure. But in reality, the chief reason is one that hinges not so much on theology, philosophy, or even a material analysis of shifting political power and influence. This makes the reason easier to grasp, though it does make it a little less intellectually satisfying. Julian failed because his reign was so short, and his successors did not carry on his reform agenda. The last pagan spent just two years as sole ruler, and the novelty of his proposed religious reforms appeared too radical to win much support during his brief stint on the throne. Julian was only 30 when he ascended to emperor, and had he reigned for decades, then the changes he proposed would gradually have appeared far less strange. This would have also given him time to father an heir that could have carried on his program and sealed Julian's place in history, not as an apostate, but as a restorer. Or perhaps this son of his may have nursed Christian convictions in private, and like Tutankhamen before him, this emperor would have seen his father's religious vision smashed and eradicated from history. The fascinating, unknowable world of interior belief should instill humility in us as historians and prevent us from taking counterfactuals too far. We must remember that our subjects were just as nuanced as we are, and that their all-too-human convictions, despairs, motivations, and passions lay behind every choice that has shaped history. That's why we can't categorize something like the death of paganism as solely the failure of Julian. It's probably better instead to think of it as the triumph of the people championing a new, particularly resilient idea. One that would change Rome, and our world, forever. you