And now we take one step further. We have seen that there is a faith which underlies all morality as well as religion, and that this faith is the discipline of the soul, and without it the soul cannot grow in morality or religion. Let us suppose, for argument’s sake, let us suppose that for this yearning of the soul after an infinite perfection, there is a corresponding reality—an absolutely perfect, a supremely righteous and true and holy Being. And let us suppose that it pleased him to make a revelation of himself to man; what should we expect beforehand respecting that revelation? Should we not expect that it would follow the analogy of all other revelations to the higher and better part of man’s nature, and that inasmuch as morality needs faith, so this manifestation of the Perfect One would come in some way or other so as to call out the act of faith? Should we not expect that if this were the only absolutely perfect nature, it would appear to our lower and inferior nature in some respects unintelligible, in some respects mysterious, in some respects contradictory? For all mysteries, everything we cannot understand, must come to our understanding in the shape of contradictory propositions. We must expect that this higher nature, this perfect nature, should try our faith. If it would be unreasonable to suppose that an inferior man to himself should understand a man, so also it would be unreasonable to suppose that our nature should not find some difficulty in perfectly appreciating and understanding the absolutely perfect nature of a supremely perfect Being. Should we not expect from analogy that we should have some more difficulty in understanding God, than we have in understanding man? We must expect the same trial of our faith, the same probation and discipline of our spiritual nature, when it is brought into contemplation of this perfect nature. Surely we should beforehand expect that this would be the case; surely we might say that the God who was perfectly understood could not be the true God. When a man says, I want a God that is not a mystery; I ask, Do you know a man who is without a mystery? Are you not a mystery yourself? Is there one fellow being whom you understand? And yet you say, I have not faith in a God whom I cannot understand. Who can comprehend him who dwells in ineffable light, in whom there is no variableness nor shadow of turning? If there be revelation from God at all, it must try the faith of man. In the next place, we should expect that it would be a revelation of a righteous person; because we know that the highest tendencies of our nature at their best moments are ever to find a righteous person, and our faith that has been cultivated in our brother man naturally looks for a person. Faith has ever been trusting in a person, in a