Genesis 7:12
Today seemed just an ordinary day.
The sun rose like an irritated eye;
wives cooked rice pancakes; children went to play
at tag in dusty fields or caught frogs by
the banks of the Euphrates; while the men
took to the brick kilns, potters’ wheels, and plows;
lovers arose to make love once again;
and old men at the gate weighed claims and vows.
But now this afternoon, things have grown tense.
Anxiety as flour-fine as sand
from Aram fills ours hearts as we watch dense
cloud ziggurats grow tall above the land,
and weather warnings in cuneiform
alert us of a coming thunderstorm.
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.
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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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