Revelation (n.) is impossible without reason — he that takes away reason to make way for revelation puts out the light of both.
Revelation (n.) is what it would take for another to discover thoughts in my mind when I can find none there myself — a step beyond the Rosicrucians.
Revelation (n.) must carry it against the merely probable conjectures of reason — yet it still belongs to reason to judge whether it is a revelation and what its words mean.
Revelation (n.) is the testimony of one who can neither deceive nor be deceived — but our assent can rise no higher than the evidence that it is a revelation and that we read it right.
Revelation (n.) that contradicted reason would overturn the foundations of knowledge God himself gave us, and leave a man with less light than the beast that perisheth.
Revelation (n.) can never overrule plain knowledge: no text could make us assent that one body is in two places at once, for our certainty that God said it can never exceed our intuition.
Revelation (n.) cannot hand on a single new simple idea: whatever St. Paul saw in the third heaven, all he could tell was that there are things eye hath not seen.
Revelation (n.) in its original form is the first impression made immediately by God on a mind, to which no bounds can be set, and once delivered to others in words it is merely traditional.
Revelation (n.) of the traditional kind is less certain than our own senses, for no one knows the flood as Noah who saw it does, and no one is as sure Moses wrote the book as if he had seen Moses write it.