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Embracing Hopelessness
This book will attempt to explore faith-based responses to unending injustices by embracing the reality of hopelessness. It rejects the pontifications of some salvation history that move the faithful toward an eschatological promise that, when looking back at history, makes sense of all Christian-led brutalities, mayhem, and carnage. Hope, as an illusion, is responsible for maintaining oppressive structures. This book struggles with a God who at times seems mute, demanding solidarity in the midst of perdition and a blessing in the midst of adversity. How can the Creator be so invisible during the troubling times in which we live-times filled with unbearable life-denying trials and tribulations? The book concludes with a term De La Torre has coined in other an ethics para joder -an ethics that "f*cks with." When all is hopeless, when neoliberalism has won, when there exists no chance of establishing justice, the only choice left for the oppressed is to "screw" with the structure, literally turning over the bankers‘ tables at the temple. By upsetting the norm, an opportunity might arise that can lead us to a more just situation, although such acts of defiance usually lead to crucifixion. Hopelessness is what leads to radical liberative praxis.
192 pages, Paperback
Published October 1, 2017
31 people are currently reading
216 people want to read
About the author
Miguel A. de la Torre
43 books58 followersDe La Torre received a Masters in Divinity from Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, and a doctorate from Temple University in social ethics. The focus of his academic pursuit has been ethics within contemporary U.S. thought, specifically how religion affects race, class, and gender oppression. He specializes in applying a social scientific approach to Latino/a religiosity within this country, Liberation theologies in Latin America, and postmodern/postcolonial social theory.
De La Torre currently servers as the Professor of Social Ethics and Latino/a Studies at Iliff School of Theology in Denver, Colorado.
De La Torre currently servers as the Professor of Social Ethics and Latino/a Studies at Iliff School of Theology in Denver, Colorado.
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
June 12, 2018
This book challenges some of the core elements of my own theology and ministerial practice. Jurgen Moltmann's theology of hope helped me out of my deepest depression and gave shape to my ministry, particularly when I pastored the Cathedral of Hope, a predominately LGBT congregation. De La Torre considers the theology of hope a theology of the privileged that lulls people away from facing how awful reality actually is and the revolutionary praxis necessary to work for justice.
The methodology of the book is interesting. Each chapter explores a traumatic episode from history, with De La Torre traveling to a location--Sand Creek, Dachau, Charlottesville, the Border, etc.--with another theologian to explore a range of theological questions that these moments of injustice and violence expose.
At first I didn't care much for his style. I felt he wasn't engaging Moltmann in genuine argument. And that he was tilting at straw men, spending lots of time criticizing Hegel's philosophy of history, which I can't imagine many people believe anymore.
But near the end the book improved. The best chapter is entitled "F*ck It."
I am not fully persuaded by De La Torre to abandon my core beliefs and practices, but I am now compelled to hear these criticisms and revise accordingly. The book lacks any discussion of resurrection, which is the key Christian idea in response to catastrophe, which left me confused about De La Torre's overall approach.
Also, he makes much of turning traditional systematic theology on its head with this third volume of a trilogy addressing the issues that normally would be addressed first, whereas he dealt with ethics and praxis first. But this isn't new. Plenty of theologians have written this way in the last generation or two. James McClendon, for instance, in his three volume theology began with ethics.
Finally, I thought he could benefit from an exploration of William James's pragmatic eschatology, meliorism, which is neither optimistic nor pessimistic and was itself worked out in the crucible of the Civil War.
Here is a good summary paragraph from near the end of the book:
"When I consider the hellish conditions under which brown bodies are forced to live, I simply lack the luxury or privilege to hopefully wait with Motlmann for God's future promise to materialize. Too many dead and broken bodies obscure my view of the eschaton. Instead, I call for storming the very gates of Hell not at some future time, but now. Motlmann's theology of hope is in effect a theology of optimism based on a God of process derived from trust in a certain biblical interpretation rooted in linear progressive thinking issuing from the Eurocentric modernity project. And while such a hope may be comforting for middle-class Euroamerican Christians, it falls short and sounds hollow for the disenfranchised."
The methodology of the book is interesting. Each chapter explores a traumatic episode from history, with De La Torre traveling to a location--Sand Creek, Dachau, Charlottesville, the Border, etc.--with another theologian to explore a range of theological questions that these moments of injustice and violence expose.
At first I didn't care much for his style. I felt he wasn't engaging Moltmann in genuine argument. And that he was tilting at straw men, spending lots of time criticizing Hegel's philosophy of history, which I can't imagine many people believe anymore.
But near the end the book improved. The best chapter is entitled "F*ck It."
I am not fully persuaded by De La Torre to abandon my core beliefs and practices, but I am now compelled to hear these criticisms and revise accordingly. The book lacks any discussion of resurrection, which is the key Christian idea in response to catastrophe, which left me confused about De La Torre's overall approach.
Also, he makes much of turning traditional systematic theology on its head with this third volume of a trilogy addressing the issues that normally would be addressed first, whereas he dealt with ethics and praxis first. But this isn't new. Plenty of theologians have written this way in the last generation or two. James McClendon, for instance, in his three volume theology began with ethics.
Finally, I thought he could benefit from an exploration of William James's pragmatic eschatology, meliorism, which is neither optimistic nor pessimistic and was itself worked out in the crucible of the Civil War.
Here is a good summary paragraph from near the end of the book:
"When I consider the hellish conditions under which brown bodies are forced to live, I simply lack the luxury or privilege to hopefully wait with Motlmann for God's future promise to materialize. Too many dead and broken bodies obscure my view of the eschaton. Instead, I call for storming the very gates of Hell not at some future time, but now. Motlmann's theology of hope is in effect a theology of optimism based on a God of process derived from trust in a certain biblical interpretation rooted in linear progressive thinking issuing from the Eurocentric modernity project. And while such a hope may be comforting for middle-class Euroamerican Christians, it falls short and sounds hollow for the disenfranchised."
September 15, 2020
"Esperanza, esperanza
no es para los pobres
los jodidos deben aprender
a joder a los joderones."
This is a work of Christian theology. And yet I find it deeply moving. That's because de la Torre isn't trying to make excuses for God. He isn't even trying to get us to like God. He allows that anyone who believes God exists is going to have to seriously ask if God keeps their promises, if they're not just one more tyrant on the side of the oppressors. Wrestling, fighting, cursing God makes more sense to de la Torre than easy worship. This is especially true for those of us who come from privilege, who can be tempted to counter the fury of the oppressed with anesthetizing proclamations that all will be well and everything happens for a reason.
Rather than "orthodoxy," de la Torre starts with "orthopraxis." Instead of obsessing about the right thing to believe, we should focus on the right way to live. Even here de la Torre is hopeless, noting that even the most righteous revolutionary movements can create more tyrants. His conclusion for the moment is that living rightly in the moment means "screwing with" the oppressors. Being uncontrollable. And doing it all with love but without hope.
no es para los pobres
los jodidos deben aprender
a joder a los joderones."
This is a work of Christian theology. And yet I find it deeply moving. That's because de la Torre isn't trying to make excuses for God. He isn't even trying to get us to like God. He allows that anyone who believes God exists is going to have to seriously ask if God keeps their promises, if they're not just one more tyrant on the side of the oppressors. Wrestling, fighting, cursing God makes more sense to de la Torre than easy worship. This is especially true for those of us who come from privilege, who can be tempted to counter the fury of the oppressed with anesthetizing proclamations that all will be well and everything happens for a reason.
Rather than "orthodoxy," de la Torre starts with "orthopraxis." Instead of obsessing about the right thing to believe, we should focus on the right way to live. Even here de la Torre is hopeless, noting that even the most righteous revolutionary movements can create more tyrants. His conclusion for the moment is that living rightly in the moment means "screwing with" the oppressors. Being uncontrollable. And doing it all with love but without hope.
April 19, 2018
Do not read this book if you are comfortably ensconced in a worldview that promises hope against history. This book would be too dangerous for you, too upending of your theologies. If you value your spiritual safety, move along to gentler tomes.
If, however, you have a gnawing suspicion that you’ve been lied to in your received history, your received theology, your received “American Dream,” then this might be the book that sets you on a path of real justice.
If, however, you have a gnawing suspicion that you’ve been lied to in your received history, your received theology, your received “American Dream,” then this might be the book that sets you on a path of real justice.
September 29, 2020
One of my fondest mottos when it comes to the struggle for justice is that we must have a pessimism of the intellect and an optimism of the will. In other words: it’s hopeless, but let’s do it anyways. Much of this book amounts to that message through a particular theological perspective. Worth a read for all Christians and others struggling with the apparent absence or maleficence of God. Also worth a read for those who feel suffocated by dominant cultures demand for optimism and hope.
April 25, 2022
It was oddly comforting in many ways to read this book as it laid out very succinctly the faith journey I have been on for several years now.
March 11, 2025
It is not easy to stare into a void, into a place of unknowing and despair and to not flinch. De La Torre does this in the short but very full work. His methods of deconstruction are not new, but how he weaves in moments of despair from human history brings home his points well. De La Torre writes clearly and authentically, with academic skill and ability. And yet he is also coming from a place of concern and empathy, making this work all the more impactful. It is an important book for all to read, to let go of the empty ideals of "hope" and to embrace the full reality of the moment. From there, we can take that first step forward, abandoning the hope, saying "f*uk it", and stepping towards a direction of humanity.
February 13, 2025
Essential reading for today. De La Torre strips away the reasons we use hope to placate actual change and calls for a desperation that is only found in hopelessness. It's not a resignation and defeat, but the fact that only when we embrace the idea that nothing will change unless we are desperate enough to do something can change happen. We have to screw with the system because the system will always defeat us. There's no bit of optimism at the end. Be prepared to be convicted there is nothing you can do except being willing to risk everything. It's the work of liberation and justice that's important, not some far off hope that the world will actually change because it most likely won't.
March 19, 2018
Miguel A. de la Torre published Embracing Hopelessness (Fortress Press, 2017) as the third book in an organic trilogy of works, the first two of which are Latina/O Social Ethics: Moving Beyond Eurocentric Moral Thinking (2010) and The Politics of Jesús: A Hispanic Political Theology (2015). In a reversal of our typical (in other words, "Eurocentric") mode of thinking, and in usual liberative theology fashion, de la Torre wrote his works in "the correct order of things: from action flows understanding" (10). De la Torre moves from an explicitly action-oriented ethics in Latina/o Social Ethics to The Politics of Jesús, which "explored the biblical text to understand the praxis advocated in the first book," (10) and culminated in the theoretical and conceptual arguments of Embracing Hopelessness.
In terms of the work itself, Embracing Hopelessness "explores what it means to move away from a middle-class privilege, which assumes all is going to work out in the end" (11). De la Torre's chief target is Jürgen Moltmann (famous for his Theology of Hope), whom he excoriates as offering a "false consciousness [that] leads to complacency with the oppressive status quo and breeds apathy" (169), that subsumes historical Christian acts of violence under an eschatological vision of hope within which "Jews" (96) and "Indians" (71ff) suffered hopelessly. Over against such a pietistic view, de la Torre offers a "theology of desperation" (166), which alone can provide the suitable ground for "liberative praxis within the now" (167) because a person can no longer be complacent, placated by their "false consciousness" called hope. He articulates an "ethics para joder" (178ff), which acts "because we have no other choice if we wish to define ourselves as human" (180).
De la Torre rejects suffering as retaining salvific effect (113ff). He writes pointedly: "Crucifixion is thus rejected as the signification of salvation" (114). Rather, crucifixion becomes "an act of solidarity with the least among us" (114), a way of becoming one with those trampled underfoot in our society. For de la Torre, suffering does not necessarily point to a god who will redeem our suffering; it points, simply, to the unjust structures (or strictures) of the world.
One problem, however, is that de la Torre locates himself within the Christian tradition broadly defined. To be sure, he rejects evangelical and other Eurocentric modes of theology, but he still finds himself as one who, regarding the cross, "struggles to make sense of a moment that is not salvific ... and yet remains foundational to Christian thinking" (114). He rightly remarks that suffering as such is neither virtuous nor a sign of god's providence, but I would toil to find a mainstream author who would posit such a view. De la Torre, though, seems to press the point too far in arguing "there is nothing salvific about suffering" (114), because in at least Paul's letter to the Philippians we see such an idea--in which god "graciously grants" (echaristhē in 1.29) the Philippians to not only believe but to suffer for the sake of Christ. There is some redemptive purchase to suffering--not as such but "for the sake of Christ."
All of which de la Torre could conceivably account for. The various traditions of Christian worship and theology each have differing relationships to the biblical texts. The problem is that de la Torre does not quite show his work on this account. It could be that he doesn't believe Paul's personal predilection toward seeing god's hand in his own suffering ought to function as a normative principle for the church in general. (Indeed, that seems almost impossible considering the rest of de la Torre's work.) But, attention paid to this emphasis in our biblical literature would have benefitted the argument. (Perhaps this was addressed in The Politics of Jesús.)
Embracing Hopelessness certainly has a moral vision worth considering. Privilege can blind our eyes to the material conditions of those who labor and suffer in injustice. De la Torre writes, and we should take note, "Hope is possible when privilege allows for a future" (18). I am one who finds the disposition of hope (especially, of hope against hope) to be a necessary posture as one moves through life. Is such a hope engendered by my socioeconomic position? Sure. Is it merely? I doubt that. But the degree to which my hope in the coming kingdom is built on my complacency in the present order, and the degree to which my hope does not promote me to actively root out injustice in my sphere--to that degree my hope is misaligned. We must not be those who mistake luxury and comfort for radical hope in god's work but those who work (even over against de la Torre) with the confidence that god works through us.
<><><>
I received a complimentary edition of this work in exchange for an honest review.
In terms of the work itself, Embracing Hopelessness "explores what it means to move away from a middle-class privilege, which assumes all is going to work out in the end" (11). De la Torre's chief target is Jürgen Moltmann (famous for his Theology of Hope), whom he excoriates as offering a "false consciousness [that] leads to complacency with the oppressive status quo and breeds apathy" (169), that subsumes historical Christian acts of violence under an eschatological vision of hope within which "Jews" (96) and "Indians" (71ff) suffered hopelessly. Over against such a pietistic view, de la Torre offers a "theology of desperation" (166), which alone can provide the suitable ground for "liberative praxis within the now" (167) because a person can no longer be complacent, placated by their "false consciousness" called hope. He articulates an "ethics para joder" (178ff), which acts "because we have no other choice if we wish to define ourselves as human" (180).
De la Torre rejects suffering as retaining salvific effect (113ff). He writes pointedly: "Crucifixion is thus rejected as the signification of salvation" (114). Rather, crucifixion becomes "an act of solidarity with the least among us" (114), a way of becoming one with those trampled underfoot in our society. For de la Torre, suffering does not necessarily point to a god who will redeem our suffering; it points, simply, to the unjust structures (or strictures) of the world.
One problem, however, is that de la Torre locates himself within the Christian tradition broadly defined. To be sure, he rejects evangelical and other Eurocentric modes of theology, but he still finds himself as one who, regarding the cross, "struggles to make sense of a moment that is not salvific ... and yet remains foundational to Christian thinking" (114). He rightly remarks that suffering as such is neither virtuous nor a sign of god's providence, but I would toil to find a mainstream author who would posit such a view. De la Torre, though, seems to press the point too far in arguing "there is nothing salvific about suffering" (114), because in at least Paul's letter to the Philippians we see such an idea--in which god "graciously grants" (echaristhē in 1.29) the Philippians to not only believe but to suffer for the sake of Christ. There is some redemptive purchase to suffering--not as such but "for the sake of Christ."
All of which de la Torre could conceivably account for. The various traditions of Christian worship and theology each have differing relationships to the biblical texts. The problem is that de la Torre does not quite show his work on this account. It could be that he doesn't believe Paul's personal predilection toward seeing god's hand in his own suffering ought to function as a normative principle for the church in general. (Indeed, that seems almost impossible considering the rest of de la Torre's work.) But, attention paid to this emphasis in our biblical literature would have benefitted the argument. (Perhaps this was addressed in The Politics of Jesús.)
Embracing Hopelessness certainly has a moral vision worth considering. Privilege can blind our eyes to the material conditions of those who labor and suffer in injustice. De la Torre writes, and we should take note, "Hope is possible when privilege allows for a future" (18). I am one who finds the disposition of hope (especially, of hope against hope) to be a necessary posture as one moves through life. Is such a hope engendered by my socioeconomic position? Sure. Is it merely? I doubt that. But the degree to which my hope in the coming kingdom is built on my complacency in the present order, and the degree to which my hope does not promote me to actively root out injustice in my sphere--to that degree my hope is misaligned. We must not be those who mistake luxury and comfort for radical hope in god's work but those who work (even over against de la Torre) with the confidence that god works through us.
<><><>
I received a complimentary edition of this work in exchange for an honest review.
February 24, 2021
Heady and academic, and with the dark subject matter it was hard to get started in it. It came with a strong recommendation so I kept going and man it was a challenging book, in a great way. I'm looking forward to re-reading it someday soon to see what I missed while struggling to grasp the first 1/3 of the book.
January 16, 2024
de la Torre reaches some conclusions I really disagree with. I see the world very differently than he does. But, when you consider my social location and inherited experience and identity, that would be his whole point. I find myself very challenged by this thinker, and will in all likelihood read more of his work.
March 7, 2018
Challenging, interesting. Mainly engages Moltmann - thought the conclusion was the most compelling.
November 19, 2025
Left me feeling hopeless
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews