So, I’m sitting here looking at my latest issue of National Review. It’s the usual feast. I almost take it for granted — but not quite.
There is The Week, the array of paragraph-long editorials (followed by a couple of longer ones). They cover current events in NR’s inimitable way.
There is a feature piece reminding me of the virtues of trade — a concept that has been under special attack of late. There is Ross Douthat on a new movie. And the regular Rob Long parody. (I should note that this is a parody by Rob Long, not of Rob Long.) There’s a lyrical essay by Rick Brookhiser on spring.
And there’s, well, me, on what it’s like to have a friend run for president (in this case, Ted Cruz).
Kevin Williamson is going after Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders. David French is writing about the scourge of porn. Ian Tuttle is dissecting the anti-Israel phenomenon. Charlie Cooke is talking sense on guns.
And so on, and so on. This is a kind of heaven for me: immersed in wise, stylish writing about things I care about.
This is why I give. I am not only a writer for NR but also a financial contributor to it.
Like other opinion magazines, National Review can’t survive on its own. Subscriptions and advertising don’t cut it. We depend on the kindness of strangers, or rather, of friends. Our founder, William F. Buckley Jr., said, “We exist to make a point, not a profit.” It is important to make the point, and find the money to do so.
There’s no such thing as a free lunch, people say. Someone’s gotta foot the bill. Might as well be me, in part, and you, in part.
I don’t mean to browbeat, because I don’t like to be browbeaten myself. But this is important. I urge you to give, some appropriate amount. We do it for ourselves: for our own enjoyment, our own edification. But also, in a way, for our nation and world: because NR-like ideas deserve to circulate and endure.
Also, they make an impact. They win hearts and minds, which changes government and life, for the better.
This is a good cause. That giving link, once more, is here. Thanks, and see you later.