One day a certain philosopher came to Rabbi Meir and said to him: “I do not believe in God. I believe that the Universe has its own existence and does not need outside help.”

Rabbi Meir did not answer, but a few days later he came to that philosopher and showed him a wonderful poem, written in exquisite handwriting on thin parchment.

The philosopher was delighted and asked: “What kind of poet created such glorious verses? And who rewrote them so beautifully?”

Rabbi Meir shook his head and replied, “You are wrong. There was no poet. And there was no scribe. This is how it happened: the parchment was lying on my desk next to the bottle of ink, I accidentally pushed the bottle and the ink spilled onto the parchment. The result is a poem

The philosopher looked at Rabbi Meir in surprise: “But this cannot be. Such a wonderful poem! Excellent handwriting! These things don't happen on their own. There must be an author and there must be a scribe!”

Rabbi Meir smiled: “How did the Universe, much more beautiful and complex than this poem, come into being on its own? And she must have an Author! There must be a creator!

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