When George Washington established a day of thanksgiving, he built upon his considerable philanthropic legacy. We would do well to heed his example.
On Oct. 3, 1789, several months after the U.S. Constitution took effect, President George Washington issued a proclamation “designating Thursday, November 26 as a national day of thanks,” specifically to acknowledge “the many signal favors of Almighty God” for “affording [the American people] an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness.”
The desire for a day of thanksgiving came at the behest of a joint committee of the U.S. Congress, spearheaded by Elias Boudinot, a representative from New Jersey. In truth, similar proclamations had been given throughout the American Revolution, including by then-Gen. Washington, on Dec. 18, 1777.
But Washington, as president, took the occasion not only to remind the public of “that great and glorious Being” who protected Americans during the War for Independence, as well as the liberties enshrined in the new Constitution, but also to promote prayer and charity. As he wrote:
“…that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech him to pardon our national and other transgressions. …To promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the encrease [sic] of science among them and us—and generally to grant unto all Mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as he alone knows to be best.”
Though he was “first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen,” Washington was also mightily concerned about the “temporal prosperity” of struggling Americans, so much so that he is considered “first among the philanthropists of his generation,” according to Philanthropy Roundtable.
On the first Thanksgiving, for instance, Washington offered beer and food to those in debtors’ prison. Always conscious of his public persona, responsibilities, and place in history, the president—who often preferred anonymity with his “scores of charitable contributions,” as described by Ron Chernow in Washington: A Life—“sometimes made exceptions on public holidays to set an example for the citizenry.”
But the public displays revealed his private inclinations toward cultivating charitable giving. Washington was generous towards impoverished veterans of the American Revolution who frequently “flocked to his door,” as Chernow notes. Meanwhile, throughout his life, the first president donated to numerous causes, including “academies, churches, and the education of orphans and contributed to subscriptions that funded, among other things, schools, publications, and fire victim relief.” In fact, in regards to orphanages, he reserved “his largest donations for the Alexandria Academy, established only a few miles from Mount Vernon.” As president, he also encouraged staff to donate to those in need.
As to the extent of his philanthropy, Washington, then-Commander of the Continental Army, instructed Mount Vernon’s overseer, Lund Washington, in November 1775:
“Let the Hospitality of the House, with respect to the Poor, be kept up; Let no one go hungry away—if any of these kind of People should be in want of Corn supply their necessities, provided it does not incourage [sic] them in Idleness; and I have no objection to your giving my money in Charity to the amount of Forty or Fifty pounds a year, when you think it well bestowd [sic]. What I mean by having no objection, is, that it is my desire that it should be done—you are to consider that neither myself, or wife are now in the way to do these good Offices.”
He had “hundreds of expenditures recorded in his ledgers for ‘Charity’”; however, his almsgiving was not merely “noblesse oblige”—the affluent’s duty toward those less fortunate—but an “integral component of his religiosity,” according to Chernow.
Washington’s relationship to God—or, as he often referred to him, the Supreme Being and Providence—is the subject of much debate with some inferring he was a deist or even an atheist. The latter, however, seems far-fetched when analyzing the roots of his charitable nature. No doubt, Washington was private in his religiosity and even critical of “religious fanaticism,” as Chernow describes, but he attended services “an average of one Sunday per month.” Moreover, throughout his life, he displayed great tolerance toward all faiths in America as exemplified by his touching remarks to a Jewish congregation in Rhode Island.
As Washington Papers asserts, the first president’s “emphasis on the importance of charity has a Biblical foundation, suggesting that his lifelong pursuit of charitable giving may have had religious underpinnings.” Washington understood a virtuous society must include charitable acts and be “practiced constantly and liberally,” but not for self-aggrandizing purposes. By feeding the homeless, educating the orphans, and tending to those in prison, Washington tried to inculcate the corporal works of mercy as outlined by Jesus Christ in the Gospel of Matthew.
Fast forward to 2024, when America faces a new challenge: 80% of U.S. adults say religion’s role in American life is shrinking, and citizens are becoming less religious (though ‘nones,’ or those with no religious affiliations, may have “hit a ceiling”). While charitable giving totaled $557.16 billion in 2023, which is down from 2022 as noted by Giving USA, there are those who warn that faith and philanthropy are inextricably linked—and that a less religious nation is less willing to give. As Philanthropy Roundtable attests, “In study after study, religious practice is the behavioral variable with the strongest and most consistent association with generous giving.”
To be sure, one does not need to be a fervent religious observer to care for one’s fellow man, but Washington’s level of charity and motivations should serve as a model for Americans today—or at least give us pause to reflect. For all of his precedents, his lifelong philanthropy—even emancipating his slaves with the hopes other landowners would follow suit—might be the most unrecognized and unappreciated aspect of his character.
If Washington embodies the American spirit, then citizens today should heed his example. With “grateful hearts,” may we thank “the beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be”; may we thank those who sacrificed their lives for our freedoms; may we recognize our own and others’ singularity in human existence; and may we generously tend to the “temporal prosperity” of those in need as Washington proclaimed on that thanksgiving 235 years ago.
