A Mean-Spirited Poem about Hell


The world’s light shines, shines as it will,

The world will love its darkness still.

I doubt though when the world’s in hell,

It will not love its darkness half as well.

Now I don’t know anything about Richard Crashaw but I hope he was merely having a bad day when he penned this short poem.  Perhaps his wife had burnt the toast that morning, or perhaps she was neglecting her “conjugal duties”, or perhaps his neuro-transmitters were merely screwing around with him.  But this is a nasty, mean-spirited poem.

Now the “concept” of hell exists in world culture and I don’t doubt that hell exists.  But I’m no longer sure about its precise nature or when and where it takes place.  I do feel strongly that those who are most obsessed about condemning others to hell, and emphatic about the point, are pretty much already there themselves.

And those ugly mean-spirited preachers who shriek and scream their sermons about hell’s torments, scaring their children into “getting saved” when they have no idea what they are doing,  simultaneously guilting the adults into “Christian” piety, have no idea just how close they are to hell’s torments.


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