In the grand narrative of reality, God isn’t some distant playwright scribbling notes from afar; He’s the Author who boldly steps into His own story, revealing Himself not as a detached observer but as the central force of truth, logic, and unyielding sovereignty. This isn’t mere metaphor—it’s the bedrock of how we understand God’s control over all things, a control so absolute and direct that it eclipses every human notion of cause and effect.

Let’s begin with the chess analogy, which I first encountered in Vincent Cheung’s work, “There is No Real Synergism,” from his Sermonettes Vol. 1 (2010, Ch. 32). Imagine a high-stakes chess tournament. On the ultimate level, the player—let’s say Oshea—decides every move, positioning each piece with deliberate intent. God, in His sovereignty, is like that player, causing every event directly. For instance, God caused Oshea to believe and confess Jesus Christ as Lord, much like Oshea moves a white pawn to H3 to capture a black knight. There’s no autonomy in the pieces; they don’t twitch on their own. Yet, from the announcer’s booth, the commentary rings out: “White pawn takes black knight!” Should we scold the announcer for not acknowledging that the pawn didn’t move itself? Of course not. The announcer describes the relative level, where the action unfolds as if the pieces interact independently. In the same way, Scripture often speaks in relative terms: “Oshea buys some gum at the store from Johnny.” On this level, Oshea chooses, pays, and walks away satisfied, but ultimately, God orchestrated the entire exchange—predestining the desire, the funds, and even Johnny’s presence behind the counter. “God is absolutely and directly sovereign over all things, including knowledge, man, and salvation.” To confuse the levels is to stumble into defective metaphysics, where reprobates invent “synergism” as if man partners with God, when in truth, our every breath is His decree.

What about accountability? There’s no logical clash between sovereignty and responsibility— just distinct categories: metaphysical authorship by God, relative commands to us. Romans 9 shatters any doubt, showing accountability flows from sovereignty, not despite it. Induction guesses beyond premises, violating the law of non-contradiction, and empiricism starts with sensations rather than revelation, leading to a worldview that’s all smoke and no fire. Scripture never defines responsibility as autonomy from God; it defines it as answerability to His commands. We’re accountable because God revealed commands. In fact, our lack of control over His holding us accountable underscores His sovereignty— we can’t escape his commands any more than we can escape His decree. Romans 3:19: “The whole world [is] held accountable to God.” Not because we’re free agents, but because He’s sovereign and holds us to His commands.

The law of non-contradiction isn’t an invention of man but a descriptive label for the perpetual, unchanging motion within God’s intellect. It’s how the premises in His eternal system of thinking are invariably arranged, a constant ordering that reflects His immutable character. Picture it: God’s mind operates with such flawless consistency that to name this dynamic is to capture the essence of rational thought itself. Because this motion is eternally steadfast in Him, deviating from it in our own reasoning doesn’t just lead to error—it halts cognition altogether. We cease to think coherently; we stop being minds in the truest sense. God, in His essence, never affirms and denies the same proposition at the same time in the same respect. To do so would be to embrace absurdity, to become non-God, which is as impossible as light deciding to be darkness.

Why is this important? God is logic and God is truth. Thus, when God interacts with us in His story, we have absolute confidence He will do what He says.

Now, extend this to the novel analogy, where God’s sovereignty shines even brighter. Imagine God authoring a fantasy epic—not with borrowed concepts, for even our ideas of storytelling originate from Him, the eternal Mind who is truth incarnate. As the law of contradiction itself, God doesn’t pen illogical tales or weave deceptions; His narrative is coherent, immutable, and brimming with his own good purpose. The characters within don’t perceive the Author; they navigate their world of quests and conflicts, unaware of the hand that shapes their fates. But here’s the divine twist: God writes Himself into the story. He enters as the hero who proclaims life abundant, decrying Satan as the thief who steals, kills, and destroys (John 10:10). In a Contract sealed by His Son’s blood, He pledges unwavering good—fish for fish, healing for affliction, prosperity for lack. As High Priest, He ministers righteousness, the blessings of Abraham, and wholeness, relating to His insiders on terms of unmerited favor alone. Isaiah 54:15 captures this: “They will surely gather against you, but not by Me.” Though sovereign over all on the ultimate plane, God declares on the relative level that attacks aren’t His doing; He didn’t send you sickness; it’s the devil attacking you, not God. Because He is truth—the very structure of logic—we trust this self-revelation without shadow or shift.

Jesus has a priesthood, in a blood contract promises to only relate to us in certain ways. These ways are a savior, our Father, our healer, our wealth provider, our blessing of Abraham giver and so on. There is no other way God relates to insiders.

Satan, that counterfeit priest of darkness, peddles a ministry of sickness, poverty, and despair. If disease grips you or lack drains your spirit, it’s not the Author’s handiwork but the adversary’s sabotage. Its not Jesus’ priesthood that kills your body, robs your wealth and steals your joy. Yet, here’s where the frank rebuke lands: If you tolerate Satan’s priesthood of sickness, death and pain, without resistance, you’re complicit in the plot twist that glorifies the villain. Scripture commands, “Resist the devil, and he will flee from you” (James 4:7 NIV), not “Endure his torments piously.” Faith-fumblers, those reprobate theologians who normalize suffering as “God’s will,” expose their defective ethics—they trample the atonement, siding with demons to undermine the blood of Christ.

But for the elect, the script flips: We’re predestined for triumph, baptized in the Spirit’s power as proof of our calling (Acts 2:38-39). Peter applied election this way, linking God’s sovereign summons to the outpouring of miraculous empowerment. Jesus amplified it: “You did not choose me, but I chose you… that whatever you ask in my name, the Father may give it to you” (John 15:16 NIV). Elected to receive whatever we ask? That’s no small print; it’s the bold headline of our destiny.

In this story, miracles aren’t optional extras—they’re scripted certainties for those who believe. The Author, stepping in, models faith that moves mountains (Mark 11:23), heals the sick, and commands reality to bow. We’re not passive readers; as new creations, we’re co-authors in the relative sense, wielding His name to enforce the plot. Doubt creeps in when we forget our role, confessing empiricism’s lies instead of God’s promises. “Your faith saved you,” Jesus declared repeatedly, tying forgiveness and healing to belief, not fate or feelings. Reprobates balk, focusing on human frailty, but we fix our eyes on Him—the God who’s really, really intelligent, for whom all things are possible, and who makes them possible for us through faith.

Think of the Israelites: Spies returned with an evil report, magnifying giants over God’s promise, and perished in unbelief (Numbers 13-14). Their failure wasn’t sovereignty’s fault but their refusal to align with the script. Today, cessationists and poverty preachers repeat the error, claiming miracles ceased or wealth corrupts, but that’s anti-logic superstition. Induction, that irrational guesswork, underpins their empiricism—observing “some” failures and concluding “all” impossibilities, violating the law of contradiction. Science? It’s built on the same fallacy, affirming the consequent without necessary connections. But God’s logic—deductive, unyielding—demands we start with His self-authenticating Word, deducing victory from promises like Galatians 3:13-14, where Christ redeems us from the curse for Abraham’s blessing, including the Spirit and miracles.

The Author’s presence changes everything. He’s here, looking you in the eye, affirming your scripted win. As insiders, we’re not victims of the plot; we’re victors, empowered to expand the kingdom. Baptism in the Spirit? It’s your election badge, unleashing power for greater works (John 14:12). Prosperity and healing? They’re yours by faith, not works—God supplies, we receive. If sickness lingers or lack persists, resist with confession: “By His stripes, I am healed” (Isaiah 53:5); “He gives me the ability to produce wealth” (Deuteronomy 8:18). Don’t let defective starting points—human speculation or superstition—derail you. The narrative arcs toward glory: “All things are yours” (1 Corinthians 3:21), judging angels, inheriting the world.

In closing, embrace the Author’s gaze. He’s scripted you for abundance, not affliction. Faith aligns you with His plot, turning potential defeat into resounding victory. The story ends with God boasting about you, for the gospel was predestined for your glory; and end return you’ll be a hero whose faith glorifies the ultimate Author. And if that sounds too good, remember: God’s not stingy; He’s sovereign, and He’s written you to win. Faith is the plot device that unlocks the abundance. In fact, faith is like “plot armor” that surrounds a hero, so that no matter what comes against him, he always finds a way out and always wins.

[1] This basic idea of God’s system of thinking always moving in the noncontradiction and how it is a human way to label this order or motion is something I read and got from Vincent Cheung.

[2] Also the basic idea of the categories of God’s command and His causality I learned from Vincent Cheung, including our responsibility being based on His command not causality. Although my thoughts were already in that general direction from Reading Romans 9 before read Vincent.