Mired deep in winter solstice cold and gloom,
Craving festivities aglow with cheer,
We lose our heads and foolishly assume
Debt we’ll regret all through the coming year.
Our budget’s of mere Cornish game hen size,
And we should choose a dinner fowl to match it,
But splurge instead, unthrifty and unwise,
To buy a turkey that outweighs Tim Cratchit.
We shop like fat-cat monarchs from the East,
Not stocking up on myrrh and frankincense,
But flashing quantities of gold, at least—
Gold cards with rates of fearsome consequence.
The season’s propaganda tells us we
Should generously aid our fellow man.
But who’s got money left for charity?
A doornail’s what that concept’s deader than.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
Your gift anchors readers in the permanent things.
Make your Fall Campaign gift now using the button below.
If you have any questions or would like more information, please contact Giovanni Del Piero, Director of the Editor’s Circle, at gdelpiero@firstthings.com or 212-627-1985.
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