What makes a donation worthwhile?

When I read about Michael and Susan Dell’s $6.25 billion commitment to children’s investment accounts, I thought there was rather a lot to discuss.

Their programme will provide $250 contributions for 25 million American children. An extraordinary commitment, deserving of serious attention.

Yet some of the reaction I saw focused on Susan Dell’s appearance.

I found that sad. Here was an opportunity to discuss what a gift on that scale might achieve, and instead people were discussing how a woman looked.

It also left me thinking about giving itself. What do we notice about it? What do we value? And what makes a donation worthwhile when the amount involved is something rather more modest?

The pleasure of an unexpected donation

Most of my own giving starts with very little deliberation.

I might see a stranger’s post on LinkedIn and discover that they are attempting something difficult for charity. Often there is a physical challenge involved.

I particularly like the unlikely participants. Someone who has not run for fifteen years deciding to complete a 5K.

I can imagine the effort involved. The first uncomfortable training run. The temptation to abandon the whole idea. The slight apprehension about asking people for sponsorship.

And I want to encourage them.

The donations are often small and almost always spontaneous. I get a great deal of pleasure from making them.

If someone is trying to raise £500, a £50 donation takes them a tenth of the way there. It also tells them that somebody has noticed what they are doing and wants them to succeed.

Having raised money for a small UK charity through the Atlantic Row, I have experienced the fundraising side of that exchange too.

The money supports a cause, while the act of donating can encourage the person making the effort. Both matter to me.

What giving does for us

There is research suggesting that spending money on others can make us happier.

In a small experiment published in Science in 2008, researchers gave 46 participants either $5 or $20 and asked them to spend it that day, either on themselves or on someone else. Those assigned to spend on others reported greater happiness that evening.

The researchers did not find a significant difference between the two amounts. That does not mean the amount never matters, or that small donations are better. But it suggests that the pleasure of giving can be available without a large sum.

That feels familiar.

An unexpected sponsorship request can give me an opportunity to do something useful for someone else, then carry on with my day feeling rather pleased that I did.

There are plenty of things I could spend the same money on that would give me less pleasure.

But where does the money go?

There is a question here that I cannot entirely avoid.

How much attention have I paid to what the charity actually achieves?

Usually, the person making the effort has caught my attention first. I have thought rather less about the organisation they are supporting.

Enjoying a donation does not tell me how much good it does. If I care about helping, I should have some interest in the answer.

For a charity I intend to support regularly, or with a substantial amount, understanding its work seems a sensible place to start. Who does it help? How does it help them? What evidence is there that its approach works?

Those questions deserve attention. I would like to give them more of mine.

Leaving room for generosity

The Dells’ commitment and a stranger’s first 5K involve very different decisions. I cannot assess the merits of a programme reaching millions of children by thinking about how much I enjoy sponsoring a runner.

But reflecting on both has helped me separate the things I value about giving.

I care about what the money achieves. I also value being able to respond when someone asks for support, and the connection that comes from encouraging them.

Planning is how I make my living. I believe there is value in deciding what we can afford to give and thinking carefully about the causes we support.

A plan can also leave room for the requests we have not anticipated.

Then, when someone takes on their first 5K, I can support them without having to establish that this particular donation is the single best use of every pound.

That freedom is one of the things money can give us: the ability to notice an effort or a need and do something about it.

I would like to understand more about where my donations go. I would also like to keep the pleasure of those small, spontaneous moments.

Perhaps thoughtful giving can leave room for both.

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