Ah, well, now I guess I have to say something. But, alas, I am not unrelentingly sarcastic, so maybe I’ll keep it on the straight and level for once.
I don’t think revelation is a “way of knowing” because to me “knowing” implies some sort of, at least in principle, objective validation. I know I’ve got milk in the fridge. That’s not a scientific finding, but I have the ability to check out this belief and determine, in a reasonably objective fashion, whether I am mistaken. And, importantly, this method of checking the belief is one which I could explain to another person and which another person, following the same procedure I would, could then employ to check the belief. But, two more notes on that:
(1) If the result of the inquiry were for some reason really important, with lots of people to rely upon it in order to make some crucial decision, we could probably arrive at a method not only to check the belief but also to report, verify and confirm the same in such a way as would satisfy all reasonable inquirers that I do, indeed, have some milk in my fridge.
(2) Most importantly: not only could we arrive at such a method, but we could probably get all concerned to agree in advance of the inquiry itself as to what would and what would not constitute a good method of inquiring, and what would and what would not constitute a good result to that inquiry.
Revelation is a subjective experience, and we know, in fact, that it’s not shared, even when people attempt to employ the same methods.
And, worse, we can’t agree on the method, even in general terms. I had Mormon missionaries at my door a couple of years ago who were surprised when I told them that I had indeed read the Book of Mormon, as well as the Pearl of Great Price, in full, and that I’d read substantial portions of the Doctrine and Covenants. They asked me whether I had then “prayed on it” and asked God whether it was all true, and my answer did not seem to be the one they were prepared for: “Why the hell would anyone ever do that?”
You see, we’ve got to validate the method. We’ve got to know that the method gives reproducible results. But in the case of revelation we know just the opposite.
Could a purely subjective revelatory experience impart some truth or other? Sure, who knows? Why not? But nobody could know whether that was so, and no recommendation of the method could ever be given.
Now, myself, I am no “seeker” in the sense that this seems to mean, among people I know who are of a religious bent. I seek to know what’s real, not to find some metaphysical answer to life, the universe and everything. I don’t “care” whether there are gods; I only want to know if there are or not, because I am curious. I do not expect the answers to questions like that to be profound, to have anything to do with “the meaning of life,” or anything like that; first things first. Are there gods? I’d like to know, and I have no need for the answer to be one thing or to be the other. I have no expectation of these answers being profound; most good answers are more practical than profound. I expect that if there were a “meaning of life,” it would lead only to the conclusion of which Howard DeVoto sang: “I know the meaning of life; it doesn’t help me a bit.”
Revelation, to someone who wants to actually know what’s true and what’s not, is a nonstarter. To someone who is invested in the truth of his religion, or who thinks that “getting religion” will make life better somehow, it’s a way of generating compelling subjective confirmation. But to someone interested in knowing what’s true, it’s utterly worthless.