But the security, or rather predominance, thus suddenly acquired by the
church, resting as it did in part upon royal favour and court intrigue,
did not tend to the spiritual advancement of Christianity. Almost
coincident with the Edict of Milan was the appearance of Arianism,
which, after dividing the Church against itself for upwards of
half-a-century, and almost succeeding at one time in imposing itself on
the whole Church,[1] finally under the missionary zeal of Ulphilas found
a new life among the barbarian nations that were pressing in upon all
the northern boundaries of the Empire, ready, like eagles, to swoop down
and feast upon her mighty carcase.

[1] At the Council of Rimini in 360. "Ingemuit totus orbis,"
says Jerome, "et Arianum se esse miratus est."

Most of these barbaric hordes, like the Goths and the Vandals, adopted
the semi-Arian Christianity first preached to them by Ulphilas towards
the close of the fourth century. Consequently the nations that forced
their way into Southern Gaul, and over the Pyrenees into Spain, were,
nominally at least, Christians of the Arian persuasion. The extreme
importance to Spain of the fact of their being Christians at all will be
readily apprehended by contrasting the fate of the Spanish provincials
with that which befell the Christian and Romanized Britons at the hands
of our own Saxon forefathers only half-a-century later.

Meanwhile the Church in Spain, like the Church elsewhere, freed from the
quickening and purifying influences of persecution, had lost much of its
ancient fervour. Gladiatorial shows and lascivious dances on the stage
began to be tolerated even by Christians, though they were denounced by
the more devout as incompatible with the profession of the Christian
faith.