The Virtue of Voluntary Care: Rethinking Charity Without Coercion

Charity is one of our oldest virtues—a testament to compassion, solidarity, and goodwill. But even the noblest efforts to help others must grapple with a difficult question: How do we serve the vulnerable in ways that genuinely uplift, rather than harm?

In a world of limited resources and growing needs, it’s not just about giving—it’s about giving well. And that’s where both governments and large charities often fall short.

While private charities proudly operate as non-profits, their size and distance from recipients introduce a familiar problem: lack of feedback. The larger and more centralized a charity becomes, the more administrative layers are needed to guess what people need—layers that consume resources before they ever reach the people meant to benefit.

Government programs face the same challenge, but with an added problem: coercion. They redistribute money not through voluntary generosity, but by force—via taxation. That process removes both the emotional reward for the giver and the dignity of the receiver. What’s lost is not just efficiency, but humanity.

For many, wealth still feels like a zero-sum game: if some win, others must lose. From that lens, it makes sense to fear what might happen if we stopped taxing people for welfare and relied on voluntary charity. Would people give enough?

Some say yes—and point to the billions already donated despite high tax burdens. Others say no—and assume that without coercion, the poor would be abandoned. But both views miss a deeper point: wealth is not a fixed pie. It is created through cooperation, exchange, and productivity.

Even charity, when done well, creates value on both sides. The giver feels meaningful connection; the receiver feels gratitude and dignity—especially when help comes with the opportunity to grow, not just to receive.

This is why voluntary charity is fundamentally different from forced redistribution. It is grounded in virtue, not obligation. You cannot mandate compassion or force generosity. True charity is personal. It begins with the choice to give—and is guided by care, not compulsion.

In a freer world, we would see a renaissance of creative charitable solutions. Microloans for small businesses, mutual aid networks, peer-to-peer giving, or for-profit models that serve the poor while staying sustainable—all would flourish without the legal roadblocks and regulatory burdens imposed by well-meaning but clumsy bureaucracies.

Markets, when allowed to function, create abundance. And abundance makes charity more possible. In early American history—before the rise of government welfare—charity was almost entirely private. One story I always come back to is that of Davy Crockett.

While serving in Congress, Crockett once voted to send taxpayer money to a community hit by a fire. But a sharp constituent reprimanded him: the Constitution, he argued, did not authorize the federal government to give to charity. Crockett listened. He later refused to vote for any public funds to be used that way, believing it should come from the people directly—not their coerced tax dollars.

I learned a similar lesson from my father.

He served as both a Navy officer and a Southern Baptist minister. He didn’t make much in either role, but he insisted on being paid something by the churches he served—not for himself, but because he believed the act of giving was spiritually necessary for the members.

He gave freely—always tithing 10% of his income, and often more when he saw someone in need. But he often chose to help with small loans instead of gifts. Not because he expected repayment, but because he knew it helped preserve the recipient’s dignity. Helping someone without diminishing their pride—that, to him, was the essence of true compassion.

My mother was equally frugal, sewing clothes and avoiding restaurants except for birthdays. Together, they raised my sisters and me in a home where money was tight, but the values were strong. I learned early that charity, when done poorly, can create dependency. But when done right, it empowers.

One lesson stands above the rest: virtue signaling is not virtue. Real charity doesn’t call attention to itself. It doesn’t use others' suffering to elevate one’s status. It seeks outcomes, not applause.

In today’s world, we have unprecedented tools to solve problems—technology, communication, logistics, and creativity. But if we want a world where no one is left behind, we must restore something older than any tool: the voluntary spirit of care.

Charity doesn’t need compulsion to be powerful. It needs freedom, creativity, and love.