Book review: Good Without God

by Greg M. Epstein

★★★★★
This is a book about Humanism, a "religion" that is badly misunderstood, trampled in Christian media as selfish. Epstein sets the record straight, articulating the beliefs he preaches as a Humanist chaplain. He points out that in our generation "we've successfully responded to the head of religion, but not to the heart of religion … we've produced a very heady atheism. But I believe in the heart of Humanism."
I can't call this an evangelical book, since Epstein stresses goodness over belief. He seems to care less about which religious setting we claim as our own, and more about our humanitarian practices. Epstein calls for a unified approach to human goodness, transcending religion. The real point of Humanism is that God is beside the point. Epstein seems to be no fan of the aggressive new atheism, and instead calls for atheists and agnostics to strive for religious literacy, while imploring religious people and Humanists to enter into a deeper dialogue and cooperation.
As such in this book, you will learn a great deal about the "religion" of Humanism. I continue to put quotations around the word "religion" because, while Humanism is a lifestyle and philosophy, it does not embrace the supernatural in any way. Faith is required, but not in any particular caricature of God, especially since (as Epstein points out more than once) the word "God" itself can mean pretty much anything we want in today's world.
Film writer/director Joss Whedon put it this way: "The enemy of Humanism is not faith—the enemy of Humanism is hate, it is fear, it is ignorance … But faith is something we have to embrace. Faith in God means believing absolutely in something, with no proof whatsoever. Faith in humanity means believing absolutely in something with a huge amount of proof to the contrary. We are the true believers."
Let me close with a poem by Yehuda Amichai that Epstein promotes as a sort of Humanist prayer:
Roshi, Roshi—when I banged my head on the doorWhen I banged my head on the door, I screamed,"My head, my head," and I screamed, "Door, door,"and I didn't scream "Mama" and I didn't scream "God."And I didn't prophesy a world at the End of Dayswhere there will be no more heads and doors.When you stroked my head, I whispered,"My head, my head," and I whispered, "Your hand, your hand,"and I didn't whisper "Mama" or "God."And I didn't have miraculous visionsof hands stroking heads in the heavensas they split wide open.Whatever I scream or say or whisper is onlyTo console myself: My head, my head.Door, door. Your hand, your hand. 
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