Basil.
Think not, sire, that I am blind to the danger that lurks in renunciation. I know that my friend Gregory says well when he writes that he holds himself a hermit in heart, though not in the body. And I know that this coarse clothing is of small profit to my soul if I take merit to myself for wearing it.
But that is not my case. This secluded life fills me with unspeakable happiness; that is all. The wild convulsions through which, in these days, the world is passing, do not here force themselves, in all their hideousness, upon my eyes. Here I feel my body uplifted in prayer, and my soul purified by a frugal life.
Julian.
Oh my modest Basil, I fear you are ambitious of more than this. If what I hear be true, your sister has gathered round her a band of young women whom she is training up in her own likeness. And you yourself, like your Galilean master, have chosen twelve disciples. What is your purpose with them?
Basil.
To send them forth into all lands, that they may strengthen our brethren in the fight.
Julian.
Truly! Equipped with all the weapons of eloquence, you send your army against me. And whence did you obtain this eloquence, this glorious Greek art? From our schools of learning. What right have you to it? You have stolen like a spy into our camp, to find out where you can most safely strike at us. And this knowledge you are now applying to our greatest hurt!
Let me tell you, Basil, that I have no mind to suffer this scandal any longer. I will strike this weapon out of your hands. Keep to your Matthew and Luke, and other such unpolished babblers. But henceforth you shall not be permitted to interpret our ancient poets and philosophers; for I hold it unreasonable to let you suck knowledge and skill from sources in the truth of which you do not believe. In like manner shall all Galilean scholars be forbidden our lecture-halls; for what is their business there? To steal our weapons and use them against us.