Seventeenth Window

Indeed in the heavens and earth are signs for those who believe.1

If we observe the face of the earth in the summer, we see that an absolute munificence and liberality, which necessitate confusion and disarrangement, is to be seen within a total harmony and order. Look at all the plants which adorn the face of the earth!

And the utter speed in the creation of things, which necessitates imbalance and disorder, is apparent within a perfect equilibrium. Look at all the fruits which decorate the face of the earth!

And an absolute multiplicity, which necessitates unimportance, indeed, ugliness, is apparent within a perfect beauty of art. Look at all the flowers which gild the face of the earth!

And the absolute ease in the creation of things, which necessitates lack of art and simplicity, is to be seen within an infinite art and skill and attention. Look carefully at all seeds, which are like the tiny containers and programmes of the members of plants and trees and the small cases containing their life-histories!

And the great distances, which necessitate difference and diversity, appear within an correspondence and conformity. Look at all the varieties of cereal grains sown in every part of the earth!

And the total intermingling, which necessitates confusion and muddle, is on the contrary to be seen within a perfect differentiation and separation. Consider the perfect differentiation of seeds when they sprout, despite being cast into the earth all mixed-up together and all resembling one another with regard to their substance, and the various substances which enter trees being separated out perfectly for the leaves, flowers, and fruits, and the foods which enter the stomach all mixed-up together being separated out perfectly according to the various members and cells. See the perfect power within the perfect wisdom!

And the great abundance and infinite profusion, which necessitate unimportance and worthlessness, are to be seen as most valuable and expensive in regard to the creatures and art on the face of the earth. Within these innumerable wonders of art, consider only the varieties of mulberry, those confections of Divine power, on the table of the All-Merciful One on the face of the earth! See them within the perfect mercy, the perfect art!

Thus, just as the day shows the light, and the light the sun, the great value together with the utter profusion; and the boundless intermingling and intermixing together with the utmost differentiation and separation within the utter profusion; and the great distance together with the utmost conformity and resemblance within the limitless differentiation and separation; and the infinite ease and facility together with the infinite care in the making within the utmost resemblance; and the absolute speed and rapidity together with the total equilibrium and balance and lack of waste within the most beautiful making; and the infinite abundance and multiplicity together with the highest degree of beauty of art within utter lack of waste; and the utmost munificence together with absolute order within the highest degree of beauty of art, all testify to the necessary existence, perfect power, beautiful dominicality, and unity and oneness of an All-Powerful One of Glory, an All-Wise One of Perfection, an All-Compassionate and Beauteous One. They demonstrate the meaning of the verse:

His are the Most Beautiful Names.1

So now, O you ignorant, heedless, obstinate wretch! With what can you interpret this mighty truth? With what can you explain this infinitely miraculous and wonderful state of affairs? To what can you attribute these truly extraordinary arts? What veil of heedlessness can you draw across this window as broad as the earth and so close it? Where is your chance and coincidence, your unconscious companion on which you rely and call ‘nature,’ your friend and support in misguidance? It is totally impossible for chance and coincidence to interfere in these matters, isn’t it? And to attribute to ‘nature’ one thousandth of them is impossible a thousand times over, isn’t it?

Or does lifeless, impotent nature have immaterial machines and printing presses within each single thing, made from each, and to the number of each?