A few weeks ago, in the span of just a couple days, several philanthropy headlines provided some welcome good news.

When MacKenzie Scott announced she’d given a little over $7 billion this year—bringing her lifetime total to more than $26 billion—it was a rare moment of uncomplicated hope in a tense national mood. So was MIchael and Susan Dells’ new $6.25 billion commitment to help fund savings accounts for millions of American children. Bridgewater’s Ray Dalio and his wife Barbara have followed suit for 300,000 children in their home state of Connecticut.

Gifts like these deserve the headlines. But they also obscure the bigger story about wealth and giving in the United States.

In the public imagination, “ultra-wealthy” and “billionaire” have become interchangeable. They’re not. America has roughly 900 billionaires. But Altrata, which tracks ultra-high-net-worth (UHNW) individuals—people with $30 million or more—counts 192,470 of them in the U.S., holding roughly $22.3 trillion as of mid-2025. The overwhelming majority—about 99.5%—are not billionaires. They control close to three-quarters of all ultra-wealth–and Altrata’s data shows they are giving away less than .5% of that wealth each year.

If we want the next era of American philanthropy to be more than a handful of ultra-generous outliers, we need to focus on that much larger group of ultra wealthy individuals and families.

Because another cultural current is strengthening at the same time: open anger toward extreme wealth. “Eat the rich” used to be a fringe slogan. Now it’s a mainstream punchline. More troubling, public reactions to recent high-profile attacks on wealthy executives have included a strand of online celebration—an ugly sign that some people see violence as an acceptable form of economic grievance.

This isn’t just about billionaires with public profiles. Resentment doesn’t follow Forbes rankings. In practice, it targets a category: “people like you.” If the public decides the game is rigged, the line between a billionaire and someone with $40 million disappears. And when a society decides the system is illegitimate, it rewrites the rules.

Even those who keep a low profile aren’t insulated. When populist energy rises, it tends to sweep broadly: higher taxes, tighter regulation, tougher scrutiny of private philanthropy itself. And sometimes—tragically—threats that target people, not policies. We can still choose a better path.

That’s why the pragmatic case for bigger, better giving is so important.

When it comes to advancing economic opportunity, philanthropy can’t replace public policy. But it can help by widening opportunity in the here and now—especially when structural reform is slow and polarization is high.

So why, with so much need and so much capacity, does giving feel stuck?

Because giving at scale isn’t a character trait. It’s a real-world practice. And for many UHNW individuals, these three barriers often get in the way:

First, “enough” is psychologically hard to define. Wealth can create a strange kind of scarcity mindset: the higher you climb, the more you compare yourself to an ever more rarefied peer set.

Second, many people don’t have a personally meaningful on-ramp into big giving. They support a few institutions out of loyalty or social obligation, but that’s different from building a focused commitment to economic mobility, climate resilience, public health, or the other systems that keep a society functioning.

Third, philanthropic execution is harder than outsiders realize. Writing a check is easy. Turning a big idea into reality—without building a large internal staff, without getting drowned in inbound requests, without making unforced errors—takes both insight and infrastructure.

We don’t just need more generosity. We need better support for the practice of giving.

Here are three moves that would make a real difference—especially among the 99.5% of the ultra wealthy who aren’t famous enough to be vilified or celebrated in the headlines.

Set a giving pace that matches the pace of wealth. Pick a number—1% of net worth annually is a useful starting point—and make it real through multi-year commitments. The biggest problem in philanthropy isn’t lack of money. It’s a lack of follow-through.

Invest in widening the circle of opportunity. Scott’s trust-based gifts and the Dells’ asset-building strategy point in the same direction: put resources into people, not just programs. If you want a more cohesive, healthier society, economic mobility is high leverage.

Don’t try to do it alone. Work with advisors who can help connect donor intent with real-world impact, and with execution partners who can deliver complex initiatives with speed and integrity. It used to be that philanthropists had to build large foundations to gear up their giving, but thanks to a growing crop of specialized advisory firms and non-profit intermediaries, donors truly can go big without building a bureaucracy.

There’s plenty to appreciate with the high profile ultra-wealthy donors who are already showing what’s possible. But the future will be shaped by thousands more who have the capacity to step forward—and the option, for now, to stay quiet.

In a moment when faith in institutions is fraying, the safest place for extreme wealth is not behind higher gates. It’s inside a society that still believes the future belongs to everyone.