The recent Theodore Schleifer piece in The New York Times, “The Billionaire Backlash Against a Philanthropic Dream,” chronicles the fading momentum of the Giving Pledge—the initiative where billionaires pledge to give away at least half their wealth. But Schleifer’s coverage misses a more fundamental problem: both the Giving Pledge and similar efforts assume it’s normal, and acceptable, for individuals to accumulate extraordinary wealth first, then give back selectively. The real question shouldn’t be how billionaires distribute their fortunes—it should be why our economic system allows such extreme wealth concentration in the first place.
The Original Billionaire Playbook
In the article, venture capitalist Marc Andreessen describes what used to be an implicit social contract: billionaires would make money, give back through philanthropy, and then be praised by the media and society.
That is not a new idea. It is a direct descendant of Andrew Carnegie’s 1889 essay, The Gospel of Wealth. Carnegie argued that extreme wealth inequality was acceptable, so long as the wealthy eventually redistributed their fortunes through philanthropy.
Warren Buffett has been one of the most serious practitioners of this tradition. He has pledged to give away virtually his entire fortune—not half—and has followed through at scale, directing hundreds of billions to the Gates Foundation and other causes. His 2011 gift of Carnegie’s The Gospel of Wealth to Bill Gates was an act of philosophical succession: a passing of the torch on the obligation of wealth. That commitment to giving deserves genuine respect.
The model itself, though, is worth examining:
1. Accumulate enormous wealth through business.
2. Give a portion away later through philanthropy.
3.Earn public admiration for doing so.
The question isn’t whether individuals within this model act with integrity—many do. The question is whether the model itself is sufficient.
The System Behind the Wealth
The more important question isn’t whether billionaires should give away half, all, or none of their wealth. The question is: why does our economic system generate such extreme wealth concentration in the first place?
The ideology of shareholder primacy—the belief that corporations exist primarily to maximize returns for investors—is a major driver. Often treated as timeless economic wisdom, it is actually a recent doctrine, reinforced by corporate governance norms, executive compensation structures, and financial market pressures.
Under this model, companies optimize for one stakeholder above all: shareholders. The costs of that optimization are borne by everyone else: workers face suppressed wages, farmers are squeezed, communities lose economic resilience, consumers pay for unhealthy or exploitative products, and the environment suffers.
The extreme wealth and income gaps we see today are the predictable outcomes of a system designed to funnel value upward.
The Limits of Philanthropy-Washing
This is where the contradictions of modern philanthropy become visible, and where even well-intentioned philanthropists can find themselves caught.
Take Berkshire Hathaway. Buffett’s philanthropic commitment is genuine and historic. But many companies in the Berkshire portfolio operate coal-fired power plants, invest heavily in ultra-processed food brands, or maintain wage structures that critics argue fall short of a living wage. This tension is a structural one. A shareholder primacy model creates these contradictions almost by design.
Across industries, companies generate enormous profits through practices that impose real costs on society and the environment—and then redistribute some of those profits philanthropically. This is what can be called philanthropy-washing: creating wealth through damaging practices, then selectively giving back in ways that burnish reputations without addressing root causes.
As Andreessen put it, philanthropy once helped “wash away all of your sins.” But that framing exposes the flaw: if the business system were aligned with social and environmental well-being from the start, there would be far fewer “sins” to address.
The Scale Problem
Scale is another critical issue. Philanthropy can fund experiments, pilots, and innovation, but solving systemic problems like climate change, inequality, or public health requires mobilizing capital at a fundamentally different order of magnitude. In the US, philanthropic capital is roughly 2–3% of private sector GDP.
The leverage point isn’t how billionaires give away their wealth—it’s how businesses create and distribute wealth from the outset.
From Giving Pledge to Purpose Pledge
That’s where a different approach emerges. Instead of extracting value and giving it back later, the Purpose Pledge embeds purpose into how companies operate day to day.
Launched by a coalition of natural products companies, the Purpose Pledge defines 10 commitments that touch governance, compensation, sourcing, investment, environmental practices, and community engagement. Companies don’t just donate to nonprofits—they invest in the stakeholders that sustain their business: employees, farmers, communities, consumers, and the environment.
This approach changes the playbook entirely. The goal is alignment: companies succeed financially because they take care of stakeholders, not despite it.
Community engagement and giving back are still part of the model, but they are measured, transparent, and can include broader investments like climate action or regenerative supply chains. The emphasis is on continuous, integrated responsibility, not occasional PR-driven donations.
Rethinking the Narrative
The Giving Pledge debate often turns partisan, framing philanthropy as a choice about left- or right-leaning causes. But the more important question is how companies should operate from the start.
Imagine if the companies behind today’s billionaire fortunes had been designed from the beginning to serve workers, farmers, communities, consumers, and the environment alongside shareholders.
Yes, the resulting personal fortunes might be smaller (though it’s fair to ask how many billions does one person actually need?). To be clear, there’s nothing wrong with founders and investors earning very large rewards when they build successful companies. But those windfalls shouldn’t come from workers struggling to earn a living wage, suppliers being squeezed, or environmental costs being pushed onto society. Take care of the workers, farmers, communities, and ecosystems that make the business possible—and there will still be plenty of reward left for the founders, entrepreneurs, and investors who helped build it.
Our economy, and society, would look very different. Cleaner air. Healthier food systems. More resilient communities. More broadly shared prosperity.
From Philanthropy to Responsibility
True purpose means serving all stakeholders, not just the ones easiest to measure or showcase. Consumers increasingly demand it. They don’t reward companies that excel in one area while falling short in others. They want businesses to do right across the board.
The Giving Pledge asks billionaires to redistribute wealth after it has been accumulated. The more fundamental challenge is redesigning the economic system so wealth is created, and shared, more responsibly from the start.
In that world, philanthropy would still exist—and generous philanthropists like Buffett would still be worth celebrating. But philanthropy wouldn’t need to serve as a band-aid on systemic harms. Instead, companies would generate wealth responsibly, invest in their stakeholders continuously, and produce lasting societal and environmental impact.
The Giving Pledge says: accumulate wealth first, give some back later.
The Purpose Pledge says: create and share wealth responsibly from the start.
Editor’s Note: Updates were made on 6/15/26 to clarify the author’s positions.