Hell houses are immersive, theatrical haunted house attractions created by evangelical groups, especially prominent in the United States since the late 20th century. Unlike typical haunted houses designed mainly for scares, hell houses use scripted, emotionally charged scenes to dramatize real-life scenarios and the perceived eternal consequences of "sin." Visitors are led through a series of intense vignettes—abortion, suicide, substance abuse, sexual violence, same-sex relationships, and more—culminating in a vision of hell, and finally, an altar call inviting repentance and conversion.
From an Upwardist standpoint, hell houses represent a cultural crossroads between empathy, spectacle, and community transformation. Their origins are rooted in the desire to move people—to awaken moral consciousness, spark reflection, and change behavior. Yet, the methods traditionally employed by hell houses often default to the most polarized, binary tactics: shock, fear, and the clear division of "saved" and "lost."
Upwardism invites us to ask: Can we move beyond fear-driven learning and punitive spectacle? How might simulations, even those that address the darkest aspects of human experience, be redesigned to foster upward growth—real empathy, agency, and collective healing—rather than shame and tribal retrenchment?
A standard hell house guides small groups through a series of dramatic tableaux, each constructed to provoke intense emotional responses. Guided by a narrator, visitors witness:
Abortion and suicide: Dramatized with graphic imagery, often suggesting irredeemable guilt or spiritual doom.
Substance abuse: Scenes of addiction, overdose, and fatal accidents.
Premarital, extramarital, or queer relationships: Framed as paths to suffering or condemnation.
Sexual violence and abuse: Sometimes included, risking retraumatization or victim-blaming.
School shootings and violence: Highly emotional, with questions of salvation or damnation at the point of death.
Occult practices: Framed as gateways to spiritual peril.
Final judgment: The climax, where characters’ fates are decided—hell for the unrepentant, heaven for the saved.
The production values may include strobe lights, blood effects, smoke, and soundscapes, aiming to blur the line between theater and reality. The event usually ends with an "altar call"—a chance to repent, pray, or join the sponsoring faith community.
Hell houses have faced significant criticism from many perspectives, including:
Trauma risk: The shock tactics and graphic content can be harmful, especially to young or vulnerable participants, survivors of abuse, or those struggling with mental health.
Stigmatization: By framing certain identities, experiences, or choices (e.g., queerness, abortion, mental illness) as inherently damning, hell houses can perpetuate shame, isolation, and discrimination.
Consent and agency: Audiences are often unprepared for the intensity of the scenes; opt-out options, content warnings, and aftercare are sometimes lacking.
Binary morality: The narrative is often rigid—one is either saved or lost—with little room for nuance, dialogue, or authentic reflection.
Skepticism about effectiveness: There is little evidence that fear-based simulations produce lasting moral growth; some research suggests they can harden existing divides or breed cynicism and backlash.
Proponents of hell houses argue that these experiences:
Make consequences visible: They claim that dramatizing "the wages of sin" renders abstract spiritual concepts real and urgent, especially for young people.
Serve as a wake-up call: By shocking participants, hell houses are said to prompt moral reflection and repentance—“scaring people straight” for their own good.
Offer spiritual guidance: For some attendees, the emotional climax and altar call provide an opportunity for support, counseling, or conversion in a supportive faith environment.
Cultural relevance: Organizers contend that using contemporary issues makes spiritual teachings accessible and memorable, countering what they see as a culture of moral relativism.
From an Upwardist view, these aims point to a longing for connection and meaning—a desire to steer people away from harm and toward a higher good. However, the means often undermine the ends: fear and stigma rarely lead to sustained ascent.
Upwardism, or Integrative Ascent, offers an alternative vision. Instead of leaning on fear, Upwardist practice advocates:
Consent and context: Every immersive experience must be opt-in, with clear information, content warnings, and freedom to leave.
Purposeful design: Simulations should move beyond shock to foster true empathy and moral agency. They should be stories with layers, complexity, and opportunities for participant reflection and growth.
Lived experience at the center: Rather than speaking about or for marginalized groups, involve them as co-creators, ensuring authenticity and safety.
Layered intensity: Gradual exposure, reflection, and choice—not overwhelming participants—helps build real understanding.
Debrief and aftercare: Emotional processing, support, and structured reflection are essential to prevent harm and deepen learning.
Feedback and follow-through: Simulations should lead to systemic change, not just momentary emotion.
Rather than dividing the world into “damned” and “saved,” Upwardist rituals ask: How can we spiral upward, together? How can we move beyond guilt and fear, toward empathy, action, and genuine ascent—personally, culturally, systemically?
Hell houses show the power of immersive simulation to provoke strong emotion and spark debate. But Upwardism sees greater promise in experiences that are humane, creative, and rooted in shared values of growth and care. In an upward world, simulations aren’t instruments of fear, but invitations to dialogue, creativity, and upward movement. The goal isn’t just to avoid hell, but to build a better world together—one ritual, one story, one upward spiral at a time.