In darker moments I have thought about inviting people who are unlikely to get on to a dinner party, supplying an excess of potent wine and sharpened cutlery and leaving them to it, coming back only to count the corpses and mop up the blood. In reality such an event will only result in a tense grating silence.
My vision of hell is not of demons with pitch forks and red hot pokers but that silence, the type of silence that is so heavy that a second seems like a year. I know people who have given up prayer because the silence is so tense, so painful, so hard to bear. I suspect this maybe because once they felt they had experienced such intensity and rapture of God's presence, that now all silence is an empty barren desert.