Julian.
[Paces once or twice up and down the colonnade, then stops and stretches out his hand for the letter.] Give it to me; let me see. [Reading.] “God’s spirit watch over him in the strife, now and for ever.”—
Oh, Basil, if I could——! But I feel like Daedalus, between sky and sea. An appalling height and an abysmal depth.—What sense is there in these voices calling to me, from east and west, that I must save Christendom? Where is it, this Christendom that I am to save? With the Emperor or with Caesar? I think their deeds cry out, “No, no!” Among the powerful and high-born;—among those sensual and effeminate courtiers who fold their hands over their full bellies, and quaver: “Was the Son of God created out of nothing?” Or among the men of enlightenment, those who, like you and me, have drunk in beauty and learning from the heathen fountains? Do not most of our fellows lean to the Arian heresy, which the Emperor himself so greatly favours?—And then the whole ragged rabble of the Empire, who rage against the temples, who massacre heathens and the children of heathens! Is it for Christ’s sake? Ha ha! see how they fall to fighting among themselves for the spoils of the slain.—Ask Makrina if Christendom is to be sought in the wilderness,—on the pillar where the stylite-saint stands on one leg? Or is it in the cities? Perhaps among those bakers in Constantinople who lately took to their fists to decide whether the Trinity consists of three individuals or of three hypostases!—Which of all these would Christ acknowledge if he came down to earth again?—Out with your Diogenes-lantern, Basil! Enlighten this pitchy darkness.—Where is Christendom?
Basil.
Seek the answer where it is ever to be found in evil days.
Julian.
Hold me not aloof from the well of your wisdom! Slake my thirst, if you can. Where shall I seek and find?
Basil.
In the writings of holy men.
Julian.