Hell is the biggest con ever sold. It’s the church’s nuclear weapon of fear, the theological mafia’s “protection racket.” Believe what we tell you, or God will roast you forever. That’s not divine love—that’s cosmic blackmail. Let’s be brutally honest: the whole setup is absurd. God supposedly designs a universe where humans are guaranteed to screw up, then dangles eternal torture as the consequence. The “solution”? A bloody human sacrifice. And only those who hear the story, decode it correctly, and bow in submission get the golden ticket. Everyone else? Eternal torment. That’s not salvation—that’s spiritual extortion dressed up in stained glass. And don’t even get me started on teaching this to kids. You terrify them with images of fire and demons, then tell them it’s all a sign of God’s love. That’s not theology—it’s psychological abuse. It’s grooming people to live in fear, shame, and submission. The doctrine of hell collapses under its own contradictions. It’s built on the lie of separation—that you can somehow exist apart from God. But if you could, you’d be God yourself, self-existent. The psalmist already blew the whistle: “Where can I flee from Your presence?” Answer: nowhere. Ontological separation is impossible. Religion invented it to keep people on the leash. Here’s the scandalous truth: Jesus didn’t teach eternal conscious torment. The Bible doesn’t support it. The church manufactured it. Hell is propaganda, a centuries-old fear campaign designed to control the masses. It’s the ultimate carrot-and-stick scam: heaven if you obey, hell if you don’t. So let’s rip the mask off. The “God” who demands child sacrifice and eternal torture isn’t God—it’s a projection of human cruelty, a Frankenstein deity stitched together by priests and power-hungry institutions. Whatever God is, you are not separate from it. You never were. You never will be. There is no hell. There never was. The doctrine of eternal conscious torment is a lie, a weapon, a cage. And the day you stop believing it is the day you walk free. Jim Palmer, Inner Anarchy