As I am reviewing some of the atheistic philosophies that I have taught in a course at St. John’s University, I am very aware of what I have tried to draw from the influential atheists, even though I disagree with their vision of reality. I am always looking for insights that the atheists might have that might help me and my students deepen and broaden our view of God.

Last spring, I taught a philosophy course at St. John’s University that had the awful title of “The Problem of God.” I have taught the course several times. It should have been called “The Mystery of God,” but that title is also used for a course in theology, and at St. John’s, two courses with the same title are not permitted.

For several reasons, I recently began to re-read sections of Father Ron Rolheiser’s spiritual classic, “Sacred Fire: A Vision for a Deeper Human and Christian Maturity.” Probably the main reason I began to re-read some of Rolheiser’s beautiful comments on prayer was that I did not wish to allow my experience of praying to become a thoughtless routine. Perhaps many of us have to work against that happening to our prayers.

Recently, some of my friends have been urging me to return to the film festival program I conducted at what was then the Cathedral College of the Immaculate Conception in Douglaston. Over a period of perhaps 15 years, I may have shown as many as 100 classic films. I may revive the program in some parish, and if I do, I will use this column to alert people who might be interested.

In last week’s column, I tried to show how artistic classics can enrich our lives and make our lives more beautiful. This week, I wish to suggest that nothing has the power to enrich our lives and make them more beautiful than Christian faith has. Each of us is writing his or her own story.

Works of art are described as classics because they reveal the truth, beauty, and goodness of reality in a special way. They transcend the period in which they were created and “speak” to 15 ages. I cannot recall ever reading a book on a time schedule, for example, 15 minutes each day, but putting a time limit on my reading seems to focus my attention.

As I mentioned in last week’s column, Martin Buber’s notion of an I-Thou relationship is at the center of his philosophy.

As I see more deeply into Martin Buber’s thought, I am simultaneously aware of light and darkness. As I see more deeply, I am simultaneously aware of how little I know. The increase in knowledge is accompanied by an awareness of my ignorance. Two relationships that are at the center of Buber’s philosophy are what he calls an I-It relationship and an I-Thou relationship.

In last week’s column, I tried to explain the view of freedom held by existentialist Søren Kierkegaard. The Danish philosopher believed that we attain human fulfillment and salvation through a free act of faith — a leap of faith in Christ — a leap that involves risking everything.

For various reasons, most related to teaching philosophy at St. John’s University, I have been thinking about what we refer to as classics in literature. One day in class last semester, a student announced that he had bought three books by Dostoyevsky: “The Brothers Karamazov,” “Crime and Punishment,” and “The Idiot.”