Purpose v perpetuity: The paradox of philanthropy 

Why purpose and perpetuity must be reconsidered, now more than ever 

Extreme weather, financial instability, war, genocide, and rising political extremism. This is the reality of 2026 where the polycrisis touches every part of society. Where I am, in the UK, the richest 1 percent of Britons hold more wealth than 70 percent of the population put together, and in 2025 alone, global billionaires’ wealth increased by £2.5 trillion—enough to eradicate extreme poverty 26 times over. 

What’s more, while the sector may describe itself as purpose-driven, the reality is the largest 300 endowed UK charitable foundations hold nearly £85 billion in assets, US private foundations hold roughly $1.6 trillion in assets, and most global foundations are structured to exist in perpetuity. With such growing inequalities, this accumulation of wealth is at odds with action.  

This position is often defended through phrases like ‘responsible stewardship,’ ‘fiduciary duty’ and ‘protecting resources for future needs’. Yet, now, more than ever, this tension is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, and it’s important for funders to acknowledge their pivotal role in redressing this imbalance.  

The oft-unspoken truth is that philanthropy’s wealth has been created from systems that exploit people and planet. While long term programmes can offer temporary relief from the impact of such systems, the sector also subtly reinforces them by continuing to invest in the very structures that produce inequality. ShareAction’s 2025 report on responsible investment demonstrates the stark realities of this contradiction, and what we’re left with is the fine line between delivering on purpose and existing in perpetuity.  

Increasingly, a focus on purpose is often translated to ‘spending down’—deploying capital now to address current crises. This approach flattens philanthropy into a debate of timing, and risks missing the underpinning complexity of its structures, power, and complicity. While it is often framed as a response to inequality, the time has come to openly admit philanthropy only exists because inequality produces the wealth that makes it possible.  

Compounding this, and far less examined, is how the flow of philanthropic capital seeds an ecosystem of charities, advisors, and intermediaries all of whom benefit from maintaining these systems over transforming them.  

Without addressing philanthropy’s inherent contradictions, we soften impacts of inequity for some, entrench it for others, but ultimately preserve systems of harm. Recognising this wider ecosystem reveals that philanthropy is not external to the systems it funds others to change. It is deeply entangled within them.  

In this context, and over the next 30 years in the UK alone, an estimated £5.5 to £7 trillion will be passed on in inheritance, from one generation to the next, the biggest intergenerational financial transfer in history.  

Our work with next-gen and progressive wealth holders shows they have a growing sense of urgency around the polycrisis, favour ideas that connect directly with those experiencing inequity, and are more interested in transforming unjust systems than tax efficiency or setting up institutions. 

Importantly, some express discomfort with their inherited wealth, leaving them feeling overwhelmed by their responsibility. These feelings signal that while we might hold differing views on its legitimacy, we must all engage in honest debate about philanthropy’s complicity and what needs to change. By not doing so, we risk becoming polarised and entrenched, creating prime conditions for a rising wave of state regulations over philanthropic assets, and the directing of capital towards agendas at odds with philanthropic purpose. 

For advisors deeply entrenched in this system, legal requirements and structures that prioritise risk minimisation, preservation, and efficiency, are all real constraints. Yet these times call for adaptation, and many are unprepared. Advisors must learn how to be facilitators of difficult conversations, and the following are just three areas where they will need to broaden their focus: 

Overall, philanthropy is also due a broader reimagining, one where legacy evolves in response to the needs of communities and isn’t considered static. 

In a time of acute crisis, inaction is a decision, and one that has cumulative and compounding consequences that future capital may not be sufficient to handle. As a result, the real question is not how long philanthropy should exist, but how willing it is to change the structures of power, decision-making, and accountability that allow it to exist in the first place.  

Unpacking this paradox might mean foundations make themselves smaller, devolve capital and resources, maybe even cease to exist. But the choice between existing in perpetuity or winding down completely—should not be the starting point. That should be specific community needs as defined by those communities, and this requires: 

Philanthropy’s legacy is not in what it holds, but in its willingness to let go and evolve in response to the rights of people and planet for a just future. For those of us within this system, that means embedding the shifting needs of those experiencing inequity into our work, before scaling and sustaining ourselves. 

This isn’t an argument for spending down or investing in long-term core-funded programmes per se, it’s a call for accountability and intention, enabling those facing harm to define the impact required for systemic change.  

This demands an acknowledgement that, in its current form, philanthropy is deeply aligned with the harmful systems that make its existence possible, and the greatest social justice impact it might make is to help create a world where its existence is no longer required.