No one will say it, but we know
today’s fresh-flamed hibiscus flower
reveals in one brief, glorious show
our birth, our life, our final hour.
Sacrament and synecdoche
live in a pot near the atrium door,
mirroring holy brevity
which, in a day, is evermore.
—Jane Greer
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.
A Culture of Parricide
I learned a new word the other day: déploration. It’s the French, directly from the Latin, for “lament.”…
The Chariot Burials
Wheeling through the clotted earth, / Bronze, bone, and leather clumped in clay...
William of St. Thierry
“Where love and understanding join, hearts are tranquil, / They rise above the turmoil of this world…