claimed the obedience of its bishops as
due to him and not to Basil. Peace was patched up after an unseemly
quarrel, and Basil disposed of any future claims from Anthimus by
getting the new capital transferred to Podandus.

[Sidenote: (2.) Eustathius.]

The dispute with Anthimus was little more than a personal quarrel, so
that it was soon forgotten. The old Semiarian Eustathius of Sebastia was
able to give more serious annoyance. He was a man too active to be
ignored, too unstable to be trusted, too famous for ascetic piety to be
lightly made an open enemy. His friendship was compromising, his enmity
dangerous. We left him professing the Nicene faith before the council of
Tyana. For the next three years we lose sight of him. He reappears as a
friend of Basil in 370, and heartily supported him in his strife with
Valens. Eustathius was at any rate no time-server. He was drawn to Basil
by old friendship and a common love of asceticism, but almost equally
repelled by the imperious orthodoxy of a stronger will than his own. And
Basil for a long time clung to his old teacher, though the increasing
distrust of staunch Nicenes like Theodotus of Nicopolis was beginning to
attack himself. His peacemaking was worse than a failure. First he
offended Theodotus, then he alienated Eustathius. The suspicious zeal of
Theodotus was quieted in course of time, but Eustathius never forgave
the urgency which wrung from him his signature to a Nicene confession.
He had long been leaning the other way, and now he turned on Basil with
all the bitterness of broken friendship. To such a man the elastic faith
of the Homoeans was a welcome refuge. If they wasted little courtesy
on their convert, they did not press him to strain his conscience by
signing what he ought not to have signed.

[Sidenote: Apollinarius of Laodicea.]

The Arian controversy was exhausted for the present, and new questions
were already beginning to take its place. While Basil and Eustathius
were preparing the victory of asceticism in the next generation,
Apollinarius had already essayed the christological problem of Ephesus
and Chalcedon; and Apollinarius was no common thinker. If his efforts
were premature, he at least struck out the most suggestive of the
ancient heresies. Both in what he saw and in what he failed to see, his
work is full of meaning for our own time. Apollinarius and his father
were Christian literary men of Laodicea in Syria, and stood well to the
fron