A deep sense of responsibility urged us to write in our July issue some of the thoughts that filled our soul on the eve of the Lambeth Conference. We were of those who could see, and even profess to see a unique event in the assembly of two hundred and fifty Bishops in communion with the Sees of Canterbury and York. These Bishops, belonging to the two great English-speaking nations, could not discuss after-war problems in the spiritual sphere without wielding a power for good, which, like every other power, might be turned to evil even when used with good intent. It was part of their disarming truthfulness frankly to confess that they had no mandate even from their own Church to say the last word on any subject of spiritual reconstruction. This profession of self-diffidence did not discredit them in our eyes. Rather did it put them apart from that all too numerous group of spiritual reconstructionists whose self-confidence is their chief power for evil. We were therefore ready to listen to whatever issued from the counsels of a group of men whose self-diffidence recalled the prophetic words, “I am not the Christ.”

This title is hardly Catholic—“Reunion with the Church” would be more correct. But we have chosen it as nearer to the idea contained in Dr. Headlam’s book : The Doctrine of the Church and Christian Reunion. When we remember that this book is the result of long study carried on with no less sincerity than acuteness, and that it appeared, programme-like, a few weeks before the Lambeth Conference, we shall attribute to it an importance not belied by the reading of it. Especially in England is the Reunion of Churches discussed. Certainly, in the presence of division, Catholics do not feel the sorrow they ought. There was a time when Christendom was uncertain as to the true Pope. There was no dispute as to principles ; it was not doubted that the Church could have but one head. Yet the mere uncertainty as to the person of that head weighed on Christendom like a nightmare. Universities, kings, bishops knew no rest till the day when perfect unity was regained. To-day, after so many centuries of divisions, this deplorable state of things seems to have become accepted. We vaguely trust to time to bring back to the fold the sheep that have strayed, and all the time others are straying and losing all Christian faith, partly owing to these same divisions. The paralysing of the Catholic Apostolate is the only too evident result.

The spirit of an epoch or even of a civilization is often concentrated in one artistic production, be it a work of art or of literature. Such works offer us short and direct roads into the heart of that epoch or civilization. This representative character may belong to a book as the sovereign achievement of its spiritual environment, the crown of a long development of thought and feeling. Such books were the Divine Comedy and the Summa of St. Thomas. But a book may also be representative as containing and summarizing precisely the average attainment and outlook. Such is the collection of short lives of the Saints made by an Italian Bishop, Petrus de Natalibus. It is true that his Catalogus Sanctorum did not appear till 1493. My edition, a black letter folio copiously illustrated by the quaintest woodcuts, was printed by Petit and Penet of Lyons, in 1534. Nevertheless the book is entirely mediæval. No breath of the Renaissance has reached it. It is a compilation of utmost industry and equal lack of criticism from all the accepted hagiographic sources. In its pages, therefore, will be found in a manageably condensed form the legends popular with the mediæval reader. If you would know what legend made a particular saint interesting to our ancestors, the Catalogus is almost sure to contain it. It is a key to mediæval art. Its illustrations are one in spirit and treatment with the images and pictures of the northern Gothic church. Its virgins are sisters of the thin-lipped maidens, somewhat prim, but always stately, of Norfolk rood-screens.

In his article on the recent Lambeth Conference Father Vincent McNabb, O.P., deprecated the acerbities of controversy, and adopted, for his part, a more pacific and sympathetic attitude towards our Anglican brethren. Naturally enough, this discordant note was somewhat disconcerting to those who are engaged in the war of controversy. And some would seem to fear that the adoption of this friendly line by Catholic writers might have the effect known as giving comfort to the enemy, by encouraging them in maintaining their false position. These alarmists may well remind us of the Government censorship in war time. It seemed only reasonable that the newspapers should be forbidden to publish any information that might be helpful to the enemy. But, not content with this natural precaution, our official censors suppressed the announcement of any progress made by the Germans. It seemed as if they were fearful lest this news might come round to the knowledge of the enemy, who would thus be made aware of his own achievements. And similar fears seem to be aroused when a Catholic writer frankly recognizes the progress made by Anglicans.