Most novelists see themselves as artists, and after so many hours spent on your art, are you really going to suggest that it's ultimately worthless? Probably not. So, it's no wonder that Cat's Cradle sees art as incredibly valuable. But then it gets tricky. See, all art the characters encounter or create is a lie. Truth just doesn't factor into it. Newt's painting is a cat's cradle, and John tells us his book is nothing but fiction from start to finish. But does that mean it has no value? Nope. The novel suggests that if we had to live in a world where our only truths were atomic bombs, human suffering, and the cold embrace of oblivion we'd all go insane. The lies of art keep us sane—or, at least, a happier kind of crazy.
The artist is the only occupation in Cat's Cradle not held up to ridicule.
Everything in the novel dies—except for art. Even George Minor Moakely's gallows song lives on.