Save the Cat! — Cartography

You know how sometimes you’ll be driving, and several minutes pass, and suddenly you’re looking around like, “I have no idea how I got here, I have no memory of the last six turns, did I almost kill anybody because I truly do not know”?

Of course you do. This isn’t a quirky or profound observation, literally everyone does this. Your brain knows when you don’t absolutely have to pay attention and seizes the opportunity to do whatever it heckin’ well pleases and then suddenly, somehow, you’re pulling into your driveway. It’s kind of a miraculous thing, if you really think about it. The way your passive self can operate your body while your active self does other things.

What’s really fascinating to me is the way I will sometimes become suddenly aware of my own stream of consciousness and discover an entire train of thought happening that I was not even cognizant of. Like a radio station tuning in, the static gives way to actively progressing ideas that I can climb aboard and investigate. It’s kind of delightful, the way we can happen upon our own thinking.

The following essay is based on one of those discovered trains of thought.

Well, it’s actually the culmination of several years of mulling, both active and passive. Starting from about 16 or 17, I’ve returned over and over again to this specific philosophical problem and tried to work it out. I’ve generally spent a few days wrestling with it, found a fairly satisfactory answer, and moved on with yet another layer of theological opinion insulating my worldview. Until, of course, it came up again. Because this question is a tough one. It’s the granddaddy of all philosophical questions, and honestly it’s a little arrogant for any of us to think we’ve ever solved it all the way through. It’s far too exponential and, frankly, mysterious for that.

So, while I am about to tackle it with my very best effort, my resolution of the question is not necessarily something which I believe to be truth. It’s really just an idea that has helped a lot of things make sense to me, and I’m writing it down in the event that it might also help you. But it’s not truth, it’s just an idea. So if you get to the end and it doesn’t help you, that’s fine! Just leave it alone.

Now, this will be a bit dense, so I’ve included multiple pictures of my cat to break it all up.

Okay, here we go.

I’ve spent a long time fighting with the nature of the universe and, by association, the nature of knowledge. As a person of faith, it’s an almost daily internal conversation; after all, faith and doubt must by their very definition coexist. This tension is not bad or wrong, it’s actually completely healthy. But there have been many times when doubt has thrown a particularly well-aimed punch, and I have to do the extremely uncomfortable work of stepping outside of the truth I have accepted and look at it all externally. And sometimes, when I’m being especially critical, what I have called Truth no longer adds up outside of its own context. It’s difficult to understand faith when you are removed from its proximity; it doesn’t make sense.

There have been multiple occasions when I have stepped out of faith and not known whether or not to step back in. Surprisingly, this is most often in times when the Lord is clearly speaking to me. There is such grandness to the Lord’s voice, even in the mundane. There is such comfort, and hope, and purpose. So of course, in my heart the question begins to grow. Would God really say? Did you really hear? Couldn’t it have just been your own thoughts and desires? How can you be sure?

And slowly but surely I roll it all back and back and back until I reach the question of God existing at all. Clearly, there is no absolute proof for it. The existence of a divine, intelligent power is entirely impossible to nail down with any satisfaction. Just about anybody, when they’re being absolutely honest with themselves, will tell you that. That is why faith is a choice; whether that faith is in a god or in no god, it is something decided upon by the one holding the belief.

Even so, arguments can be made. And there are some really great ones out there on both sides, all made by people far more intelligent than I am who have spent a much longer time thinking on it. There are pages and pages of complex intellectual gymnastics written on why God isn’t real, but really I think the biggest and most difficult argument is the fundamental question every single person asks at least one time in their lives.

“Why is there evil?”

If God is all-good and all-powerful, why do bad things happen? The narrative of a perfectly loving being that is also perfectly omnipotent simply does not fit the world we see around us. CS Lewis expresses this disconnect extremely well in his book The Problem of Pain:

“'If God were good, He would wish to make His creatures perfectly happy, and if God were almighty He would be able to do what He wished. But the creatures are not happy. Therefore God lacks either goodness, or power, or both.'”

It doesn’t take a great deal of looking to find true human suffering in our world. In fact, it doesn’t take a great deal of looking to find it in our own neighborhoods. Many of us have experienced significant pain ourselves, and I can guarantee that any of you who haven’t have an unpleasant surprise coming.

In every nation, at every level, at every moment, there are innocents being harmed and evildoers prospering. There are atrocities occurring all over the globe this very second which I, personally, cannot even fully process the concept of. It’s absolutely overwhelming.

If God is all-powerful, how could He allow it?

I’ve had a theory about this for a while, and as it turns out somebody else has already written a paper on it. From Contextualism to Contrastivism was published in 2004 by the philosopher Jonathan Schaffer, and while I haven’t read the entire thing I can give you a general idea of what it’s about. Contrastivism, or The Contrast Theory of Meaning, is a theory that falls under Epistemology, the branch of philosophy concerned with the theory of knowledge (coming from the Greek episteme, meaning “knowledge”, and logos, meaning “logical discourse.”) Basically, Epistemology is trying to answer the question, how do we know things?

The classical statement used to prove knowledge is, “S knows that p.” For example, you (S) know that the sky is blue (p). This can get increasingly more complicated, like you know that the sky is blue because your eyes have processed the sensory information of light refracting in our atmosphere and delivered that information to your brain, which in turn analyzed the information and concluded that what you were perceiving is what you have been socially conditioned to recognize as “blue.” Still, even with all of those nuances, this formula is not really a concrete means of establishing absolute truth. What if everyone sees colors differently? What if “you” is actually just a brain in a vat? The whole argument falls apart. So how do we know that we know things?

Contrastivism proposes instead a three part formula for proving knowledge: “S knows that p rather than q.” You know that the sky is blue rather than red. You know that you’re hot rather than cold. You know that it’s dark rather than light. Unlike its popular counterpart Contextualism, which claims that all knowledge is dependent upon specific context and is therefore relative, Contrastivism asserts that there is room for absolute truth in knowledge, and that we can know what it is based on what it is not.

And now we begin to get somewhere. We have this concept of the nature of reality, and therefore we can start to grasp the bones of the universe. Which is fairly vital in any discussion concerning God, because scripture tells us that He Himself is the foundation of the cosmos.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through Him all things were made; without Him nothing was made that has been made. In Him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.”

John 1:1-4

According to the Bible, God’s divine DNA is woven into everything that exists. Stars and planets, ocean and sky, mountains and pebbles, elephants and beetles, and, most of all, you and me. We aren’t God, but we are defined by Him. He is the Great Something from which all other things have their origin.

“For in Him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through Him and for Him. He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together.”

Colossians 1:16-17

Not only was God the formative clay from which everything was created, He is still actively sustaining the creation. Stars and planets, mountains and pebbles, you and me. Which of course, begs yet another question: What the actual does that actually mean? How can God be intrinsically part of us if we are not, ourselves, divine? How can God be distinct from creation if He is actively holding it together?

Here are some thoughts that have helped me.

Generally when we think of God, we think of Him more as a person. We list His relatable qualities, describe Him in personable terms, and lean heavily on His incarnate form as Jesus. This is not remotely wrong, but it does sometimes confuse the conversation. There is the specific Character of God, and then there is the general Nature of God; if Character is the cells, marrow, and tissue of God, Nature is the protons and electrons. And while God’s Character is dimly mirrored in us, it is His Nature that we fully embody. He defines the code of existence because He is the author of existence.

If there is indeed a binary scale of is-to-isn’t that defines all knowledge, we can conclude that it comes from God’s Nature. This means that in order for there to be good, there must also be its opposite: bad. In order for there to be right, there must be wrong. In order for there to be holiness, there must be sin. God could not create a non-contrasting reality, not because He isn’t almighty, but because His Nature demands the existence of opposites. God is who and what He is, and He cannot deny Himself.

“It is no more possible for God than for the weakest of His creatures to carry out both of two mutually exclusive alternatives; not because His power meets an obstacle, but because nonsense remains nonsense even when we talk it about God.”

CS Lewis, The Problem of Pain

So, if God is good, and He could not create a universe without allowing room for evil, why create it at all?

It doesn’t make very much sense when you think about it. God isn’t lonely, because as a being with three persons He’s all the company He could ever need. God does not require a counterpart, because again, as a being with three persons, He doesn’t need anything else to define His “Self.” We know the Father is the Father rather than the Son. We know the Son is the Son rather than the Holy Spirit, and so on. Each of God’s “Selves” are easily defined by Their distinction from the others. God does not get bored, because He is not confined to the linear progression of time and therefore is literally incapable of having a dull moment. Because, ya know. No moments. God does not need creation.

So why? Why set all of reality into motion? Why create something good only to allow it to be corrupted?

Here are some more thoughts that have helped me.

There’s this book written by Blake Snyder called Save the Cat! The Last Book on Screenwriting You’ll Ever Need. It’s about the monomyth (or “hero’s journey”) narrative as applied to film and, now on its 23rd printing, it is every bit as prolific as it expected itself to be.

Snyder coined the title Save the Cat! to describe the decisive moment when the protagonist does something good or brave to establish them as the hero of the story; for instance, when Ripley saves the cat Jonesy in the first Alien. The Save-the-Cat moment is vital to good storytelling because it proves that the protagonist is worthy of our support and investment. It demonstrates integrity, selflessness, and courage. Instead of just merely telling us that the hero is a hero, it shows us.

I think about this principle all the time. Literally constantly. Pretty much on a loop, to be honest. Because, as anyone who knows me can tell you, I am absolutely obsessed with two things: storytelling and integrity. Story doesn’t matter unless you can believe in the characters, and relationships don’t matter unless you can believe in the person.

Without demonstrated integrity, you have flat narratives and untrustworthy people.

To illustrate my point, I’m going to share a brief anecdote from my Real Life. I would change the names, but frankly I don’t remember any of them so we’ll just stick with improper nouns. So: One evening I went to a local singer/songwriter night to support a friend, and there was this young artist there who also played several songs. Part of the structure of the event was that the artists’ explained the inspiration behind their songs before performing them, and babygirl told us all about her thoughts and feelings and the ways music has helped her process them. A significant theme was the pain and confusion she was feeling over her parents’ divorce and her father moving to Alabama for work. The fun part was that her dad had actually traveled back to Georgia to see her play and was sitting in the front row. So the event ends, and I went up to find her and encourage her as a fellow songwriter/creative female. Along the way, I fell into conversation with the dad.

I’ll never forget how anxious he was to explain to me how much he loved his daughter and how hard he was trying to do right by her. It wasn’t blustering or self-absolution, either; the earnest, to-the-quick pain flickering behind his eyes was absolutely real. He told me about how God had called him to a ministry in Alabama, and about all of the ways it had been blessed, and about how he called his children every night and came to see them once a month. I love her so much, he kept saying. I just hope she knows I love her.

She does, I told him. She’s hurt, but she does. And do you know what? Even if she doesn’t fully see it now, when she looks back she will know so well how much she is loved. Because character is proven in imperfect circumstances.

Which brings us back to the universe. God speaks creation into being, from light to stars to oceans to animals to man, and then He calls it good. But something happens.

“Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, ‘Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?’

“The woman said to the serpent, ‘We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.’’

‘You will not certainly die,’ the serpent said to the woman. ‘For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.’”

Genesis 3:1-5

We all know what happens next. Mankind believes the lie that God does not have our best interest at heart, and the relationship is broken. Sin enters the world, and with it comes a serious problem.

“This is the message we have heard from Him and declare to you: God is light; in Him there is no darkness at all.”

1 John 1:5

God is holy. God is perfectly good, perfectly righteous, and perfectly just without any exception. There is no flaw in Him. There is no fallibility or weakness. There is not one trace of evil. He is entirely pure, and He cannot allow anything of any less purity than Himself into His presence. And thus we have this separation.

“But your iniquities have separated

you from your God;

your sins have hidden His face from you

so that He will not hear.”

Isaiah 59:2

When mankind fell, a barrier was raised between creation and Creator. It was forged in shame, distrust, and rebellion, and it hurt God deeply. We were no longer able to walk with Him, we were no longer worthy to be called His people, and worst of all, we were no longer alive. As we read in John chapter 1, God is life. And when mankind chose to disobey and reject Him, we rejected life as well: “The wages of sin is death” (Romans 6:23). That’s why the Levitical sacrificial system was put in place to begin with. The debt had to be paid, and only death would suffice.

God couldn’t simply overlook the barrier, because He is perfectly just. And God cannot deny Himself. But God also couldn’t allow us to remain lost, indebted, and alone, because He is perfectly loving. God needed to somehow satisfy the fullness of both His Character and His Nature.

“But He was pierced for our transgressions,

He was crushed for our iniquities;

the punishment that brought us peace was on Him,

and by His wounds we are healed.”

Isaiah 53:5

Salvation is God’s Save-the-Cat.

We know that God is willing to lay down Himself rather than allow us to be destroyed by a consequence we completely deserve. S knows that p rather than q. And thus, through the most imperfect situation imaginable, God proves He is always good. Despite the great lie, the great betrayal, and the great separation, God remains faithful, demonstrating radical mercy and impossible grace without compromising a single shred of Himself. And this is how we are able to know and understand the fathomless fullness of who He is: Because we are able to know what He is not.

I hope this helps.

“The Lord is gracious and compassionate,

slow to anger and rich in love.

The Lord is good to all;

He has compassion on all He has made.

All Your works praise You, Lord;

Your faithful people extol You.

They tell of the glory of Your kingdom

and speak of Your might,

so that all people may know of Your mighty acts

and the glorious splendor of Your kingdom.

Your kingdom is an everlasting kingdom,

and Your dominion endures through all generations.

**The Lord is trustworthy in all He promises**
**and faithful in all He does.”**

Psalm 145:8-13

-- Kyle