wisdom and care; hence anyone with a grain of intelligence will say on contemplating them, ‘The one who made them in this fashion may very well be the Creator of the whole cosmos.’”

For in front of our eyes each vine branch the thickness of a finger will hold twenty bunches of grapes, and each bunch will in turn contain hundreds of sugary grapes, each like a litle pump emitting syrup. To clothe the surface of each grape with a fine, delicate, thin, and colourful protection; to place in its delicate and soft heart seeds with their hard shells, which are like its retentive faculty, programme, and the story of its life; to manufacture in its stomach a sweetmeat like the helva of Paradise, a honey like the water of Kawthar; to create an infinite number of such grapes over the face of the entire earth, with the same care and wisdom and wonderful art, and at the same time and in the same fashion this proves in selfevident fashion that the one who fulfils these tasks is the Creator of the whole cosmos, and this deed, requiring as it does infinite power and limitless wisdom, can be only His deed.

Yes, blind and stray, disorderly and unconscious, aimless, aggressive, and anarchic forces, nature and causality, cannot have anything to do with this most sensitive balance, this most skilful art, this most wise scheme. They cannot even stretch out their hands toward it. It falls to them only to be employed