I often have the impression that all the news about the contemporary world is bad. Of course this is not true, and I find that in trying to offset the bad news it is helpful for me to remind myself of some basic truths about the human person that I have learned from philosophy.

I have come to believe that every person has what I call a philosophy of life. By that I mean every person has some view of what being a human person means. For some this philosophy is relatively clear even though they may agree that the meaning involves some mysteries.

Recently I did something that I have not done in years. One evening, in almost one sitting, I read a truly great play, Robert Bolt’s play about St. Thomas More, “A Man for All Seasons.” 

There is a section in Bernard Cooke’s “Sacraments & Sacramentality” (Mystic, Ct. Revised Edition, Twenty-Third Publications, 1994, pp. 241, $14.95) in which he discusses the nature of conscience and how celebration of the Eucharist can shape and form our conscience.

I suppose that all words have a history. In dialoguing with students in philosophy classes at St. John’s University I have found that words such as “subjective,” “objective,” “experience,” “faith,” and some others, I almost always have to either ask the students what they mean by those terms or explain what I mean when I use those terms.

Who can guess why some ideas that we previously did not pay much attention to begin to take a predominant place in our consciousness? 

Anyone who has read the recent columns I have written knows that I am deeply interested in the view of grace presented by Bernard Cooke in his book “Sacraments & Sacramentality” (Mystic, Conn., Twenty-Third Publications, revised edition, 241, pp. $14.95). I find Cooke’s insights very exciting and provocative.

Often in this weekly column I have referred to this truth: If you become a teacher, by your students you will be taught. I believe that, and it has been confirmed to me time and time again in the many years that I have been teaching philosophy. 

I have a vivid memory of myself as a young priest in the early 1960s standing in the pulpit preparing the congregation to move from the Latin Mass to having the liturgy in English. 

In the May 20 edition of The Tablet there was a brief obituary for Msgr. George Deas. Though brief, it called to my mind some of the most wonderful memories I have of Father George Deas. For the past 50 years, George had been my regular confessor and spiritual director. For whatever good there is right now in my relationship with God, I owe George my gratitude.