If memory serves, and it sometimes does, the first bit of philosophy that I read was as a callow youth in a cushioned chair at the local library. It was Ralph Waldo Emerson’s elegant little essay “Gifts.” A Unitarian turned transcendentalist, Emerson (1803-1882) championed the American Genius, especially in literature. Beloved throughout the North, he was no friend to the South. A fierce abolitionist, he counseled that no house be built without a space to hide runaway slaves.

How is it that Emerson should come to mind now? Because he writes with candor about his conundrum in giving a Christmas present! The problem is choosing the gift. Yes, he knows a present is in order. But, he admits, “I am puzzled what to give, until the opportunity is gone.”

His puzzlement might result from the rules he proposes for gift giving. For a start, the gift should reflect the character of its recipient. (Why, oh, why, as a teenage weightlifter, did I give my mother a barbell for Christmas?) At the same time, the gift we give should reflect something of who we are. (But, still, a barbell?)

And what about receiving gifts? “He is a good man,” Emerson writes, “who can receive a gift well.” A deep reciprocity, he contends, is the best context for both giving and receiving. “The gift, to be true, must be the flowing of the giver unto me, correspondent to my flowing unto him.” Too often, our shopping for gifts becomes “a cold, lifeless business.”

Beware the scripted potlach. Aim instead, he urges us, for a generosity that “cannot be bought and sold.” Christmas, he’d tell us, isn’t about making deals, not even really great ones. Indeed, Emerson writes that it’s the “rectitude” of plain people that “scatters favors on every side” and in due time “receives with wonder the thanks of all.”

Happily, Emerson has a Plan B for those who, like himself, tend to overthink the choice of gift. Flowers are always suitable. After all, flowers proudly assert that “a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.” (A note of caution. Don’t presume the flowers are for you. Once my joking “Oh, you shouldn’t have!” met with a forthright “I didn’t, not for you.”) Fruit is fine as well. He thinks of it as “the flower of commodities” and would travel a hundred miles for “a basket of summer fruit.” (Again, caution. A gift of lemons in Los Angeles is like bringing coals to Newcastle.)

Despite Emerson’s insights, I’ve not solved my own conundrum. My wife established the practice of drawing names for our family Christmas present exchange. We have a $25 limit. I drew the name of a grandson. Let’s call him “Bubba.” Like most in his age cohort, he shows a whole lot of potential. For now, though, he’s largely focused on handheld electronic devices. Should my gift be electronic? Never. How about a subscription to the New Oxford Review? It wouldn’t be well received. Were he going to a Christmas Prom, I could give him a boutonniere, but he’s not. He probably likes red licorice more than fruit. So, what then? It’s Plan C: abject surrender. It will be an Amazon Gift Card for him. In this respect, the Revolution of Deep Reciprocity will have to wait. Maybe next year? My consolation, gentle readers, is that our Lord and God, even now, “pours gifts on his beloved while they slumber” (Psalm 127). That’s Good News for Bubba and Grandpa alike.