Logos, Thomas Carlyle, and The Everlasting Yea Raymond N. MacKenzie, Editor Keywords Thomas Carlyle, Romanticism, Catholic Romanticism This is my first issue as Editor at Logos, and I want to begin by saying just a few words about my predecessor, Dr. David Deavel. Dave has taken a new position with the University of St. Thomas in Houston, and he will be very much missed here. His contributions to Logos were too many to count; many readers will remember, in particular, his many fine prefaces, which seamlessly blended personal reflection with intellectual and spiritual inquiry. And all Logos readers are in his debt for his work in soliciting, evaluating, and editing manuscripts, and for shaping and nurturing the journal for nineteen years (six as editor-in-chief). We here at the journal wish the very best for Dave and his family. As I begin my tenure as editor of Logos, I’m naturally drawn to the question of ends, of goals. I’ve been thinking about the question, what is this journal for? The obvious answers—the journal is a place for scholarly inquiry, for intellectual exchange—are satisfactory as far as they go, but those are true of all academic journals. Does Logos have something else to do, something larger to provide? Our website provides a good place to start thinking about the question. There, we read the following: [End Page 5] Springing from our commitment at the St. Thomas Center for Catholic Studies to contribute to national and international developments in Catholic higher education, we began publishing Logos: A Journal of Catholic Thought and Culture more than 20 years ago. Since then, Logos has served as an interdisciplinary meeting point for scholars to publish their finest work and for readers to remain engaged in the beauty, truth, and vitality of Christianity as it is rooted in and shaped by Catholicism. Engaging readers in the beauty, truth, and vitality of Christianity: now we can see a better answer to the question taking shape. Continuing to think about the subject, my attention was piqued by a concept that is developed in this issue of Logos, in Peter Gorday’s article. I will give a proper introduction to Reverend Gorday’s work later in this preface, but right now I want to pick up a specific point, though it is one that at first seems far removed from the question of what Logos can offer. He cites the French writer Henri Bremond as arguing that Romanticism is in its essence mystical; Bremond spoke of a conservative romanticism, even a Catholic romanticism. He seemed to see Romanticism as profoundly religious and thus, by implication, as a literature that is closely connected to faith. Was Romanticism essentially mystical? Was it that close to Catholicism? Nowadays, it is rarely discussed in such terms; scholars tend to stress the revolutionary side of Romanticism, its political radicalism, its flouting of taboos and breaking of boundaries. But I think Henri Bremond was right. Romantic poetry, especially the British variety, is very often marked by what can only be called a sacramental vision: Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner is a prime example, as Catholic a poem as any non-Catholic ever wrote. Robert Penn Warren saw this already back in 1946 in a classic study of the poem that explored Coleridge’s “sacramental conception of the universe.”1 Coleridge’s haunting allegory of unmotivated sin, repentance, penance, and redemption not only expresses Catholic themes and ideas, but it foregrounds Catholic imagery and rhetoric. And Coleridge is [End Page 6] not alone among the Romantics in his profound quest for the spiritual. His friend Wordsworth is always in search of the transcendent: Our destiny, our being’s heart and homeIs with infinitude, and only there . . . 2 Wordsworth is often cast as a pantheist for the way he almost seems to deify nature, but when we read more closely, it is clear that for him, the natural world conceals a mighty power behind it, almost as if in illustration of an important point St. Athanasius makes: “He [God] provided the works of creation also as means by which the Maker might be known.”3 Across the Channel...
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