John and Doves,
Brother Lewis, the total irony is that if there were no
hell as God has designed it, the lost soul would create its own hell, if only to
give itself the illusion of place and time.
such, there would be the infinite repetition, in infinite variations of the
Twilight Zone episode, "Where is Everybody?"
(13 Apr 2011)
IS NO HELL"
SUPPOSE THERE IS NO
In a sermon by William Elbert Munsey, a
preacher of the 1800's, he brings up this supposition. He has already preached
three sermons on the existence of hell. He has a very picturesque
"Now suppose there is no Hell.
Suppose the soul in no special or particular place of misery, but simply
lost—flung by the power of God beyond creation's boundaries into immeasurable
wastes of night, where no world ever rolled in sight, no ray of light ever
penciled an image, no word or sound ever wandered, and over whose expanse no
angel ever flew.
See it traversing the darkness, and threading
the inky abysms in search of worlds, in search of heaven, in search of
something where there is nothing visible, tangible, or ponderable—in search of
something beside itself.
Saints commune with saints, angels with
angels, and they all commune with God: but this soul, sympathetic and social
in the very construction of its being, its state changed and not its
constitutional nature, is eternally isolated from everything like itself, and
plunged into an ocean of darkness interminable to its flagging wing, where no
sight or sound will ever greet its aching sense, and doomed to wander in the
pathless void while cycles roll and ages go grinding on.
careering in its bewildered flight. It has crossed its track a thousand times,
and recrossed it. It is lost! lost! beyond the power of finding. It knows it.
It feels it, but still it flies, now advancing, now regressing. It turns, and
turns again, and lo! a blush of dusky light—a stupendous arch of massive bend,
and a temple grand in its darkness, with dusky gates and dingy towers, greets
its vision. It fain would scale the loftiest turret—it soars, it hovers, but
oh, horror of horrors! temple, gates, and towers melt away into darker gloom,
and it is left in awful loneliness hanging in agony, but a speck of quivering
terror in untenanted and unilluminated space. Shall it ascend, descend, or
move off on a level?
There are no ups or downs, or recumbent
planes where there is nothing. If ups, and downs, and planes there are, it may
soar up, up, up, forever, or dip down, down, down, forever, or rush on, on,
on, forever it is still, and through all eternity a lost
See it yonder, yonder, yonder. It goes that way: LOST!
lost! Lost! It comes this way, shrieking lost! lost! lost! till our hearts
stand still with horror.
Scream on, and fly on, cursed and ruined
spirit : no battlemented walls of towering jasper will ever meet thy gaze, or
furnish a resting-place for thy weary pinion. Fly on, lost soul, forever, no
angel of mercy will ever cross thy solitary way, or overtake thee in thy
wanderings. Lost spirits! blackened with the curse of thy God, fly on, and
repeat in despairing cry the chorus of thine own horrible death-march, lost,
lost, where no echoes will ever mock thy misery.
lost in boundless, bottomless, infinite darkness, fly on, thou shalt never
find company till the ghost of eternity will greet you over the grave of God,
and thou shalt never find rest till thou art able to fold thy wings on the
gravestone of thy Maker."
contributed by Lewis