Three Ontological Paradigms concerning God, Part 1: Overcoming Estrangement

First, you may be like me and wondering what the heck “Ontological” means. I had to look it up. Basically it’s the study of what something is in its being. So a vague ontological theory about my wife is that she’s a human female. As I develop a more elaborate ontological paradigm concerning my wife, I perceive that she has a sweet voice, a gap in her teeth, green eyes–all pleasantly combined into something very pretty. What’s more she is a kind, patient person, with a sense of humor, and enjoys mothering and homemaking. I moved from a very simplistic ontological understanding of my wife into a sophisticated Suzanneology. Hopefully that helps as we consider Ontology as it relates to God. (Any Epistemologists out there, feel free to point out how I’ve misunderstood Ontology.)

Here’s three different Ontologies of God or narratives of God. You’ve probably encountered all of these in one way or another.

1. Overcoming Estrangement

This understanding of God erases the boundaries between creature and creator. This is the narrative of the ascent of the spirit into Godhood. In many cases it idealizes the spiritual world above the physical.

Here is an common example of the “Overcoming Estrangement” narrative as it appears in our culture. When talking with a homosexual once I explained how I believed that homosexuality was wrong because God had declared it wrong in the Bible. This person responded by saying that they didn’t find God in church or in the Bible, they experienced God in the beauty of nature and creation. So in their paradigm God is something encompassed by the glorious elements of reality. He certainly is not personal in that he would declare something as wicked. He is not separate from creation but present in the “good” elements of creation. Perhaps he is the Ideal Spirit; perhaps ultimate reality; perhaps he is the essential existence. he can be experienced in the spiritual state but does not speak in human words.

To encounter this God, one turns inward and ascends a spiritual ladder, in many cases detecting from the physical world to some sort of ultimate reality. The most obvious example of this narrative institutionalized as a religion would be Buddhism. In a less institutionalized form, this might be the New Age movement.

In the quintessential forms of this God-narrative, God never appears as something separate from creation. He is not a judge, avenger, rewarder, his is not even personal. (He/She/It) is found not by turning outward, but looking inward deep into our spiritual nature; the idea being that if God is not separate from nature then we have a part of God inside of us. The story turns to us overcoming our estrangement with the deity within and without.

In stark contrast to this stands the God of scripture. The Biblical narrative opens with the creation of the universe out of God’s imagination and by his free will. It is as separate from God as the paint on a canvas is separate from a creator. Just as the painter is independent from the painting, God is independent from creation. God is also judge in that he is the only one fully outside of the creation and can look on it with full objectivity and understanding. As everything from the atom to galaxies is created and upheld by his will, nothing is hidden or misunderstood from God. Not because he is creation but because only he is separate.

Looking inside of ourselves for a divine spark is futile. In fact, looking outside of ourselves is futile too because God is separate from all of creation. We can glimpse his Energies (as the Eastern Orthodox say so well) in creation but his Essence is nowhere to be found because he is not a part of the created world. For us to encounter God, he must show himself to us.

Love Wins: Preface

Hell is a curious belief to hold in this age. It’s sort of the red-headed-stepchild of evangelicalism. When I was a kid I remember adults observing that one never hears “Fire and Brimstone” sermons anymore. Very true, Mom and Dad. Our church certainly never did any lengthy sermons on it. When somebody did mention it they spoke in hushed tones and looked at the floor; like the wizards in Harry Potter talking about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Hell was for sweaty-faced, shouting preachers somewhere in the south. Certainly not for us–the rational, the graceful. Sure we believed in Hell.

We just didn’t like it.

Whoops, Jesus just died of a broken heart

I remember specifically one evangelistic sermon I heard at a youth rally: In this sermon Jesus became little puppy out in the cold, scratching at the door. Let him in, won’t you? This little puppy will be your best friend. He will make you happy when you’re sad. You’ll never be alone again. The evangelist began to describe the crucifixion. He described how they pierced Christ’s side and blood and water poured forth. He said how this showed that his heart had burst while on the cross. And then with his arms spread wide he said, with thousands of teenagers looking on, “Jesus died… of a broken heart. He loved you so much that he died of a broken heart.” Poor Jesus.

I had a hard time swallowing this line. Jesus died of a broken heart? Lame. Was Jesus really like an overdramatic teenage girl who dies if rejected? The creator of the universe is a bit fragile, eh? I’m sure this evangelist was well-intentioned but his picture of Christ was wimpy and unmanly. Aslan had become a kitten.

But what about Hell? This evangelist probably believed in Hell but, like so many Christians, he didn’t like it. He preferred to think of the heart-broken, love-stricken Christ. And that was okay with the rest of us; he could ignore Hell as long as he officially believed in it. Doubting Hell equaled herecy. Ignoring it was fine.

What was the result of this? Sitting at the feet of that evangelist, the result in 13-year-old Levi was apathy and a bit of skepticism mixed with embarrassment. The invitation to the alter was like someone asking you to “go steady”. Why should I follow Jesus? Because he loves me so much that he died of a broken heart? Gosh, it seems kind of mean to say “no” when you put it that way.

That is the culture of evangelicalism that I grew up in.

Houston, we lack conviction

Fast forward fifteen years and I’m reading the preface to “Love Wins” by Rob Bell. Most people paying attention to Evangelicalism will know that this book is controversial. Rob Bell seems to have crossed a line somewhere in the pages ahead. But this should hardly come as a shock to those of us raised on the current diet of Evangelicalism. Listen to what Bell has to say in the preface:

First, I believe that Jesus’s story is first and foremost about the love of God for every single one of us. It is a stunning, beautiful, expansive love, and it is for everybody, everywhere.

This is less saccharin than “Jesus died of a broken heart” but it’s essentially the same. And here’s why Bell has an audience for this book.

If I believe Jesus is nothing more than a kitten lost in the cold, and I open the door to find a lion, I’m going to have a problem. “This isn’t what I signed up for,” may cross my mind. We may feel panic starting to boil somewhere deep down.

A friend of mine once confessed that he didn’t like the Old Testament. All the accounts of God’s judgement, all the violence was hard to reconcile with “God made you special and he loves you very much.” He had opened the Bible and found something different than what was advertised. Rob Bell wrote Love Wins for my friend and people like him. Bell says so himself:

I’ve written this book for all those, everywhere, who have heard some version of the Jesus story that caused this pulse rate to rise, their stomach to churn, and their heart to utter those resolute words, “I would never be a part of that.”

This is the fruit of an evangelical culture who lacked conviction. We printed “God: Safe for the Whole Family” in big bold letters and wrote that you should tremble in fear of him in microscopic print. We weren’t prepared for what we would find in the Bible and Rob Bell is here salve our wounds.

Who is this guy in crimsoned garments, anyway?

In the book of Isaiah, Chapter 63, the prophet sees a man coming from Edom with a red-stained robe. This man is the Messiah. Christ. He answers the prophet:

“I have trodden the winepress alone, and from the peoples no one was with me; I trod them in my anger and trampled them in my wrath; their lifeblood spattered on my garments, and stained all my apparel. For the day of vengeance was in my heart, and my year of redemption had come.”

That’s Jesus? Many of us would not recognize him. We can’t reconcile this blood-stained warrior with a servant dying on cross for the sake of love. So we ignore him. We Photoshop the picture of Jesus into something that we like, removing the bloodstains and red eyes. And, ah, much better. I can already feel my pulse slowing and my stomach settling. Here is a Jesus that I want to “be a part of”.

But will we truly know him? Can we really say that our faith is not a refuge for weakness if we’ve made a religion where our pulse never pounds, and our stomach’s never flutter? Truth that never challenges us smacks of fantasy. Truth that always agrees with our inclinations feels like delusion.

So Jesus doesn’t love us?

The danger of books like Love Wins is they do the opposite of what they set out to do. They claim to enlarge our conception of God when, in truth, they narrow it. They claim to be open-minded but they act more like censors, cutting out the scary parts and claiming that “it’s just as good without them”.

Rob Bell is right when he says that Jesus’s story is about God’s amazing, scandalous love for us. But it is a love that can only be truly understood in the light of God’s terrifying hatred of sin. This is a God that gives demons nightmares. This is a God that will make mighty kings crawl like terrified dogs.

Like it or not Hell is a key part of God’s story. We can “believe it” and yet ignore it, like so many Evangelicals have done. Or we can redefine it and declaw the lion like Rob Bell is attempting to do. We do both at our own peril. Paradoxically, God’s hatred of sin is part of his love for us. When we erase Hell we may have a God who is comfortable, agreeable, modern, but we won’t have Christ. His love will no longer be scandalous and amazing; instead it will be hallow and, as I once felt, a little bit weird.

Should we just stop here?

My goal by reading Love Wins is to solidify my conviction in God’s love and justice. I don’t just want to feel obligated to believe in something like Hell so I can be a part of the Christian club. I believe Rob Bell is asking questions that many Christians need to ask. I believe that Hell needs to be redefined away from some popular conceptions. I think that by asking these questions and submitting to the scripture, we will know God’s love story better. And I believe with all my heart it’s a dangerous, heartbreaking, desperate, infinitely wonderful story.

Non-Fiction Snobs?

So, hey! seeing as Everyone In The World has an opinion on Rob Bell’s latest book, I figured I should have one too. As tempting as it is to have my opinion without actually reading the book, I felt that it might degrade said opinion if I’d only read the dust jacket. Along the way I’ll be reading Martin Luther’s The Bondage of the Will and G.K. Chesterton’s biography of St. Thomas Aquinas, The Dumb Ox. I’ll post my thoughts here as I go. You’re welcome to join me.

Love wins, and so do paragraphs

The first thing I notice when I open Rob Bell’s Love Wins is that he is very generous with his use of the “return” key. In Postmodern Writing 101 did a professor take Bell aside and say, “Rob Baby, one word: Paragraphs! Lots of em.”?

And there it is,

my first observation of Love Wins

is shallow.

C.S. Lewis to a young author

Here’s a letter that C.S. Lewis wrote to a first-time author. It’s pretty funny in how blunt it is. It also has a wealth of good-advice that I wish more modern fantasy authors would take. Still how would you feel if you got this letter from C.S. Lewis?

---

My wife and I have just been reading you book and I to tell you that I think it a quite amazing achievement — incomparably beyond anything I could have done at that age. The story run, on the whole, very well and there is some real imagination in it. The idea of the gigantic spoiled brat (had you a horrid baby brother once?) is really excellent: perhaps even profound. Unlike most modern fantasies your book also has a firm core of civilized ethics. On all these grounds, hearty congratulations.

On the other hand there is no reason at all why your next should not be at least twice as good. I hope you will not think it impertinent if I mention (this is only one man’s opinion of course) some mistakes you can avoid in the future.

1. In all stories which take one to another world, the difficulty (as you and I know) is to make something happen when we’ve got there. In face, one needs “filling”. Yours is quite sufficient in quantity (almost too much) but not quite, I think, of the right sort. Aren’t all these economic problems and religious differences too like the politics of our own world? Why go to faerie for what we already have? Surely the wars of faerie should be high, reckless, heroical, romantic wars — concerned with the possession of a beautiful queen or an enchanted treasure? Surely the diplomatic phase of them should be represented not by conferences (which, on your showing, are as dull as ours) but by ringing words of gay taunt, stern defiance, or Quixotic generosity, interchanged by great warriors with sword in hand before the battle joins?

2. This is closely connected with the preceding. In a fantasy every precaution must be taken never to break the spell, to nothing which will wake the reader and bring him back with a bump to the common earth. But this is what you sometimes do. The moving van on which they travel is a dull invention at best, because we can’t help conceiving it as mechanical. But when you add upholstered seats, lavatories, and restaurants, I can’t go on believing in faerie for a moment. It has all turned into commonplace. Similarly even a half-fairy ought not climb a fairy hill carrying a suitcase full of new nighties. (Notice too, the disenchanting implication that the faeries can’t make for themselves lingerie as good as they can get — not even in Paris, which would be bad enough — but, of all places, in London.)

3. Never use adjectives or adverbs which are mere appeals to the reader to feel as you want him to feel. He won’t do it just because you ask him: you got to MAKE him. No good TELLING us a battle was “Exciting”. If you succeeded in exciting us the adjective will be unnecessary: if you don’t, it will be useless. Don’t tell us the jewels had an “emotional” glitter; make us feel the emotion. I can hardly tell you how important this is.

4. You are too fond of long adverbs like “dignifiedly”, which are not nice to pronounce. I hope, by the way, you always write by ear not by eye. Every sentence should be tested on the tongue. to make sure that the sound of it has the hardness or softness the swiftness or languor, which the meaning of it calls for.

5. Far less about clothes, please! I mean, ordinary clothes. If you had given your fairies strange and beautiful clothes and described THEM, there might be something in it. But your heroine’s tangerine skirt! For whom do you write? No man wants to hear how she was dressed, and the sort of women who does seldom reads fantasy: if she reads anything it is more like to be the Women’s Magazines. By the way, these are a baneful influence on your mind and imagination. Beware! they may kill your talent. If you can’t keep off them, at least, after each debauch, give your imagination a good mouth-wash by a reading (or would it be a re-reading) of the the Odyssey, Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, E.R. Eddison’s The Worm Ouroboros, the romantics of Stephens, and all the early mythical plays of W.B. years. Perhaps a touch of Lord Dunsany too.

6. Names not too good. They ought to be beautiful and suggestive as well as strange: not merely odd like Enaj (which sounds as if it came out of Butler’s Erewhom).

I hope all this does not enrage you. You’ll get so much bad advice that I felt I must give you some of what I think good.

C.S. Lewis
2. September 1957

Dear Jack, Hope.

Today we lost our kitten, Emily Whitefoot Nunnink.

Lily gave her the name Emily and the rest of us tacked on “Whitefoot” to make things more interesting. Pet names should be a little on the weird side.

We only had her for two weeks but she managed to work her way into our hearts in that short amount of time. She was an amazingly playful little ball of fluff. She couldn’t resist attacking anything that moved. To get her to come out from under the couch, all you had to do was make your hand look like a wounded wildebeest (or just jerk it around a bit) and she’d pounce. She was also something of a Spider Man/Cat. This was a regular sight: Emily, spread-eagle, six feet up our screen door, staring at you with a grim I-mean-business expression that only a cat can have. She also liked to be cradled like a baby. I would pick her up and hold her close to my chest–her little pink paws almost up to her chin–and she would purr and close her eyes.

Early this morning Suzanne woke me out of a dead sleep with a voice that nobody wants to hear. It’s that awful something-is-seriously-wrong voice. She had come back from her early morning walk and found Emily in the driveway. “I think she’s dead,” she said and wanted me to go look. Sure enough, as I stumbled out into the driveway in my bathrobe, there was our little kitten. She didn’t look very bad, for a second I could’ve fooled myself into thinking she was asleep, but then I touched her. I’d held Emily countless times–a playful, warm, busy thing–but this thing was cold and stiff. There was no doubt.

(Ironically, as we pieced together the circumstances of the death, it became clear that this was the second of our kittens that my mom has indirectly killed. Another story for another time.)

Jack was the only other family member who was awake to see this scene in our driveway. Honestly, I wish it had been anybody but him. Lily, when she eventually heard the news, had a moment of finger-sucking remorse but quickly got philosophical about the situation and was ready to eat her cereal. Jack, on the other hand, was crushed. Me and Suzanne sat on the couch holding our sobbing boy. This is where things got interesting.

“Pray that God will make her alive again,” he asked me, between sobs.

My first instinct was to blow it off and give some theological explanation on why we just needed to except our kitty’s death. But I couldn’t do that. My entire life, my eternity, is staked on the belief that God raised a man from the dead. If he raised one man, why not a kitten? It certainly wouldn’t be too hard for the one who breathed life into the cosmos to breathe life back into a kitten. But, of course, God wouldn’t raise our kitten from the dead. It was stupid to even ask, right… Right?

But if Jack had the faith to ask, why wouldn’t I?

So we went out onto the porch. I had placed Emily’s body in a paper bag next to the door. I put my arm around Jack and knelt and I put my other shaking hand on the bag (I wasn’t brave enough to reach in and touch the dead cat). I think that might have been the most faithless prayer that ever came before the throne of God. But I had to ask him. I don’t even remember the words but you can picture them. Something along the lines of: “Uh, God, if you could maybe heal Emily and bring her back. We still trust you if you don’t.” Etc. Mostly trying to hedge so I didn’t look like a complete idiot when nothing happened. I sure wasn’t about to shout: “Emily Whitefoot, in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, LIVE!” But still, a very small part of me hoped for a miracle: to feel that bag stir and hear a sound of life from inside.

But nothing happened.

“Does it take a long time?” Jack asked, still crying.

That was a bad moment. I hugged Jack and told him that God wasn’t going to bring Emily back and we needed to bury her.

Maybe someone reading this is thinking that the reason Emily didn’t come back was because I didn’t have faith. You’re wrong. I would swear on the Bible that you’re wrong. And what’s more, you’re mean. Sure, I made Doubting Thomas look good on that porch, but don’t tell me Jack’s faith wasn’t up to snuff. He has more faith in his pinkie than any faith healer. If God worked up miracles based off of our faith then Emily and every dead cat within 100 miles would have been raised this morning. Instead, God looked at that little boy’s broken heart, heard his faithful prayer and said, “No”.

Or did he say, “Wait”? Wait, Jack. Just wait.

“Does it take a long time?” Jack asked. Yes, buddy, it does. It takes a very long time. But just wait until you see how this thing ends. Then you’ll get it. You’ll understand why God said no. And it will all be worth it.

We buried Emily under a big oak in our yard. We made a little cross to mark her grave and wrote this on the cross: “Emily Whitefoot, Romans 8:19-22″. Here’s what Romans 8:19-21 says:

The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.

Emily, along with the rest of nature, got a bad deal. Because of our sin, she died and didn’t get much of a life. But in the end Jack (and Emily, I think) will know, “it was worth it”.

Just a little bit down the page, Romans says: “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good…” Even a dead kitten? Yes, “all things.” And the good that comes from the death of that kitten will be all the better because of the sadness.

Jack, this story isn’t over. God is answering your prayer in a better way then you can imagine.

Oddly enough, one year ago today, my Aunt Tracie died. Thinking about her makes all this cat stuff seem silly. How many times did God say “No” to our repeated prayers for her? And why did he do that? Was it just too hard to heal her? Not enough faith on our part? Or is something better in store?

So often in this life, we think we’re attending a funeral. Especially when we’re attending a funeral. We look at the death and sadness around us and think this is what life is all about. Dress up in black, visit the casket, cry, and go home because there’s nothing else to see, no more stories to tell. All the pain and suffering that preceded the casket only adds up to a casket. The end.

But we’re wrong.

Here’s a scene: It’s dark and you can almost taste pain in the air. You hear screaming and straining and blood is on the floor. Someone is writhing in a bed and people are shouting and weeping. If you were thrown into this scene, you might think you were in a torture chamber. But now listen to what they’re shouting: “Here it comes! Just a little more! I can see the head! Almost there! Good job!” You realize those tears are tears of joy. This is no torture chamber, this is a birth! In a moment the scene changes from horror to joy.

This life is no torture chamber, it’s no funeral, although it would be so easy to mistake it so. All this present pain and suffering is building up to a glorious, joyful, eternal birth.

One last picture: Jesus, in the garden. He asks God to take away the pain that lies before him. God says, “No”. Jesus is taken, tortured, crucified, and dies. Stop there.

What a story! It’s almost a nihilist fairy tale, no? A good man, a perfect man, begs God to spare him and God shakes his head. What a fool to hope in God to the end! What a horrible world, where this Galilean is murdered in such a way!

And yet Christians adore that day and remember it with tears of joy. Why? Because the story did not end at the cross and in the tomb. The culmination of the cross overshadowed and made glorious its pain.

I cannot imagine how the death of an angel like Aunt Tracie or even a kitten that will not rise from the dead is somehow laying a foundation of eternal joy; just how the terrified disciples on Good Friday could not comprehend how their master on a cross would become the Good News that would change the world.

But I have so much hope.

If all this pain and death will be transformed by the birth that is coming, then what a birth we should expect! What a day is in store for us!

For in hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope; for who hopes for what he already sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it.

Jack, just wait and hope. You won’t be disappointed.

Fiction Snobs in 09. Will the snobbery go on?

I think so. I’m still going to keep reading books.

I have an idea for another book to read together. I’m feeling a bit crazy to suggest it but it’s one of those books that I just want to talk with people about and nobody has read it. So it’s purely selfish. I’ll keep you all posted.

On a music note: what is my favorite new album of 2009 so far?

Welcome to the Welcome Wagon

The Welcome Wagon is a married couple, the Reverend Thomas Vito Aiuto and his wife Monique, who execute a genre of gospel music that is refreshingly plain. Their hymns are modest and melodic takes on a vast history of sacred song traditions, delivered with the simple desire to know their Maker—and to know each other—more intimately. More…

This is an amazing album. Seriously check it out.

Chapter 12: The Return of Ulysses

Finally! Sorry about the ridiculously long delay. Hope everyone hasn’t completely forgotten where we are in this book.

The time has come to say goodbye to our little friends and I think Grahame ends his story pitch-perfectly. The friends have a quick victory and regain Toad Hall, sending the Weasels and Stoats back to the Wild Wood humbled and trounced.

The real theme of this chapter is how Toad is forced to grow up a bit. But this is done perfectly in line with his character. He realizes he can keep people’s attention more if he is quiet and mysterious instead of boastful and loud. (By the way, I’ve discovered this to be true myself.) So his motives are a still a bit selfish but he also is doing it for his friends. That’s really the nice part of this chapter is that Toad finally gives out for his friends who have spent the entire book giving out to him. You can see that Toad finally understands that he has put Badger, Mole, and Rat trough a lot of trouble. Not that he doesn’t lay on the guilt while submitting to their wishes.

`You have conquered, my friends,’ he said in broken accents. `It was, to be sure, but a small thing that I asked– merely leave to blossom and expand for yet one more evening, to let myself go and hear the tumultuous applause that always seems to me–somehow–to bring out my best qualities. However, you are right, I know, and I am wrong. Hence forth I will be a very different Toad. My friends, you shall never have occasion to blush for me again. But, O dear, O dear, this is a hard world!’

And the story ends on the note of friendship winning out even in the most selfish of hearts. It’s not that Toad has suddenly seen the error of his ways (he’s still the same Toad inside) but he’s forcing himself to not shame his friends. A perfect way to close.

So now that we’re done, what did everyone this of this chapter and the entire book? If you didn’t like it (*cough*, *cough*, Sydney) you can post too.

Thanks to everyone who stuck through the entire book. (Did anyone?) I’m going to put together a book party in January and everyone is welcome. Even if you didn’t read the entire book. I’ll be giving out awards and I think we’ll make some traditional English dishes.

Hi everyone, this week’s chapter has been canceled on account of snow and too many websites to build. We’ll pick up next Monday and chat Wind & the Willows over Christmas. Sound good?

Non-writing post

This is a T-Shirt design I did recently. What do you guys think?

Chapter 10: “Like Summer Tempests Came His Tears”

Ah, Toad. What can you say? He is something else.

This is a humbling chapter for Toad and also one that reveals how hard it is to truly humble him.

Notice how he jumps right in to boasting as soon as the Rat hauls him out of the river. (” Such trials, such sufferings, and all so nobly borne!”) He is so excited that he forgets he’s dressed like a washerwoman. He is completely remorseless for all the trouble he caused–in fact it has only bolstered his pride. But Grahme knows just like the rest of us that Toad needs to learn a lesson. Over the next few chapters Toad finally grows up as much as Toad can grow up–and in true Toad form, of course.

This is how Toad acts while Rat lectures him:

So although, while the Rat was talking so seriously, he kept saying to himself mutinously, `But it was fun, though! Awful fun!’ and making strange suppressed noises inside him, k-i-ck-ck-ck, and poop-p-p, and other sounds resembling stifled snorts, or the opening of soda-water bottles…

(This reminds me of how Jack and Lily sometimes act when I’m lecturing them.) He obviously thinks this is just another situation that he will escape. But then Rat lands the crippling blow by revealing that Toad Hall is lost.

Toad leaned his elbows on the table, and his chin on his paws; and a large tear welled up in each of his eyes, overflowed and splashed on the table, plop! plop!

Toad would be completely lost without his friends and, here again, they come to his rescue. They haven’t missed a moment and they have sacrificed and toiled to re-secure Toad’s mansion. They didn’t even give up on him when he was in jail. Of course, Toad completely misses how wonderful they are:

Here the unfeeling Toad broke into a snigger, and then pulled himself together and tried to look particularly solemn.

It seems that only the Badger has the power to bring Toad to (temporary) repentance:

`Toad!’ he said severely. `You bad, troublesome little animal! Aren’t you ashamed of youself? What do you think your father, my old friend, would have said if he had been here tonight, and had known of all your goings on?’

Toad, who was on the sofa by this time, with his legs up, rolled over on his face, shaken by sobs of contrition.

So the chapter finishes the heros back together, preparing to storm the castle. There’s so many gems in this chapter that it would be foolish to try and mention them all. What were some of your favorites parts?