principles, and of the infinite Person in whom they inhere, is the condition, and the application of that fact is the end of philosophy. These two erroneous positions the logician follows with his celebrated "statement of the opinions which may be entertained regarding the Unconditioned, as an immediate object of knowledge and of thought." The four "opinions," to which he reduces all those held by philosophers, are too well known to need quotation here. They are noticed now, only to afford an opportunity for the presentation of a fifth, and, as it is believed, the true opinion, which is as follows. The infinite Person is "inconceivable," but is cognizable as a fact, is known to be, and is, to a certain extent, known to be such and such; all this, by an immediate intuition of the Pure Reason, of which the spiritual person is definitely conscious; and that Person is so seen to be primarily unconditioned, _i. e._ out of all relation, difference, and plurality. "Inconceivable." As we have repeatedly said, this word has no force except with regard to things in nature. Is cognizable as a fact, &c. Nothing can be more certain than that an _exhaustive_ knowledge of the Deity is impossible to any creature. But equally certain is it, that, except as we have some true, positive, _reliable_ knowledge of him _as he is_, we cannot be moral beings under his moral government. Take, for instance, the moral law as the expression of God's nature. 1. Either "God is love," or he is not love--hate; or he is indifferent, _i. e._ love has no relation to him. If the last alternative is true, then the other two have no relevancy to the subject in hand. Upon such a supposition, it is unquestionably true that he is utterly inscrutable. Then are we in just the condition which the Limitists assert. But observe the results respecting ourselves. Our whole moral nature is the most bitter, tantalizing falsehood which it is possible for us to entertain as an object of knowledge. We feel that we ought to love the perfect Being. At times we go starving for love to him and beg that bread. He has no love to give. He never felt a pulsation of affection. He sits alone on his icy throne, in a realm of eternal snow; and, covered with the canopy, and shut in by the panoply, of inscrutable mystery, he mocks our cry. We beg for bread. He gives us a stone. Does such a picture instantly shock, yea, horrify, all our finer sensibilities? Does the soul cry out in agony, her rejection of such a conclusion? In that cry we hear the truth in God's voice; for he made the soul. Still less can the thought be entertained that he is hate. It is impossible, then, to think of God except as _love_. We know what love is. We know what God is. There is a somewhat common to the Deity and his spiritual creatures. This enables us to attain a final law, as follows.