Principles That Endure: What America's 250th Anniversary Has Me Thinking About Philanthropy

As America celebrates its 250th anniversary, I've found myself reflecting on a question that reaches well beyond history or government.

What allows something to endure?

The founders of our nation understood something profound. They could not possibly anticipate the challenges, technologies, conflicts, or opportunities that future generations would encounter. They couldn't write instructions for every circumstance.

Instead, they articulated a set of principles they believed were self-evident—principles that could serve as a foundation for generations they would never meet.

Those principles have never eliminated disagreement. Nor have Americans always lived up to them. In many ways, our history is the story of continually striving toward ideals that remain just beyond our reach.

That isn't a flaw in the experiment. It may be one of its greatest strengths.

It reminds us that principles are not valuable because they make difficult decisions easy. They are valuable because they give us something to return to when the answers aren't obvious.

I believe philanthropy deserves the same kind of foundation.

One of the great misconceptions about charitable giving is that generosity is simply about responding to need. Need certainly matters, but the world contains more worthy causes than any one of us could ever support. Every act of giving is also an act of choosing.

Should we focus on our own communities or on global challenges?

Should we invest in immediate relief or long-term solutions?

Should we support institutions that have served society for generations, or emerging organizations pursuing new ideas?

Should our giving reflect gratitude for what we've received, concern for those who are struggling today, or hope for generations we will never know?

These aren't questions with universal answers.

Nor do I believe they should be.

What I've come to appreciate is that thoughtful philanthropy begins not by asking, "Where should I give?" but by asking, "What principles do I want my giving to express?"

Perhaps those principles are rooted in human dignity, opportunity, stewardship, compassion, justice, curiosity, faith, education, or care for future generations.

Whatever they may be, they become more than aspirations. They become a framework for decision-making.

The organizations we support may change over time.

The needs of the world certainly will.

Even our own perspectives evolve as we gain experience and wisdom.

But principles provide continuity amid change.

That doesn't mean they are fixed forever. In fact, I hope they aren't. A life well lived should deepen our understanding of ourselves and of the world around us. We should expect our thinking to mature. Our principles may become more nuanced, more expansive, and perhaps more humble than they once were.

After all, none of us is free from contradiction.

We all hold beliefs that are tested by circumstance. We all make decisions we later reconsider. We all discover that the world is more complicated than it first appears.

The answer is not to wait until we achieve perfect clarity before acting.

It is to continue refining the principles that guide us while having the humility to acknowledge that we may never have every answer.

To me, that is one of the quiet lessons of America's first 250 years.

A nation, like a person, is not defined solely by whether it reaches its ideals. It is also defined by whether it continues striving toward them.

Perhaps our philanthropy should be viewed the same way.

Not as a series of isolated donations.

Not as an annual tax exercise.

Not even as a measure of generosity.

But as the ongoing expression of a set of principles that help answer one enduring question:

Given the resources entrusted to me, what difference do I hope my life will make?

I suspect each of us will answer that question differently.

And perhaps that's exactly as it should be.

Our principles need not be identical to illuminate the way forward.

They simply need to be honest enough to guide us toward our own truth—and generous enough to leave the world a little better than we found it.