by Janell Turner, in collaboration with Chris Koenemann

We are living through one of the largest generational transfers of wealth in modern history. Trillions of dollars are moving from one generation to the next—quietly, steadily, and often without the depth of conversation required to carry that wealth with integrity. For decades, this moment has been framed primarily as a financial event: a matter of tax efficiency, asset allocation, and charitable vehicles. But for many families, it is something far more profound.

It is a human event.
A relational event.
And, perhaps most importantly, a spiritual one.

James E. Hughes Jr. spent much of his career urging families to expand their understanding of wealth beyond financial capital alone. His Five Capitals framework invites a more complete accounting: human, intellectual, social, financial, and spiritual. While financial capital is often the most visible—and the most discussed—it is ultimately meant to serve the others.

Human capital reflects how individuals are doing—their health, resilience, and sense of well-being. Intellectual capital speaks to what a family knows and how it learns together, particularly as it navigates the increasingly complex systems surrounding wealth. Social capital is the connective tissue: how a family communicates, makes decisions, and remains in relationship over time. These forms of capital are not abstract ideals; they are lived experiences that shape whether wealth becomes a source of cohesion or fragmentation.

And then there is spiritual capital.

Spiritual capital, as a category of well-being worthy of investment, resists easy definition.  At its core, spiritual capital is the capacity to locate meaning beyond oneself—and to orient one’s life, and one’s decisions, around that meaning. That can be as simple and as profound as moments of clarity: a sense of purpose, a grounding in values, an experience of awe, a quiet conviction about what matters most, or as complex as religion or spirituality. It may emerge in stillness, in service, in creativity, or in connection to something larger than oneself. So, as a category of well-being, it is about how one lives.

When individuals are anchored in this deeper sense of purpose, their relationship to wealth begins to shift. Giving becomes less transactional and more expressive. Stewardship becomes less about preservation and more about alignment. Decisions carry a different weight because they are tethered to something enduring.

As a category of discussion, Chris Koenemann defines it as a shared space where individuals with different perspectives, beliefs, and life experiences can engage in meaningful conversation without collapsing into conflict or avoidance. It offers a way of meeting one another not at the level of rigid positions, but through the qualities that shape how one moves through the world—curiosity, humility, generosity, courage.  “At a time when Dr Lisa Miller’s research into the brain reinforces the need, on the level of well-being, for these conversations, we are blessed to have a category for them,” Chris noted.  In this sense, spiritual capital becomes a kind of bridge. It allows families to enter conversations that might otherwise feel too charged, too personal, or too easily misunderstood.

When it is absent, the effects are often subtle at first, but profound over time. Leaving aside the research about well-being and focusing merely on philanthropy, families without conversations on spiritual capital default to what is most visible and measurable—financial capital—while the underlying dynamics go unaddressed. Conversations become narrower. Decision-making becomes strained. Individuals may feel disconnected, not only from the wealth itself, but from their place within the family.

Inheritors, in particular, can experience this disorientation. Without a grounding in shared meaning or a sense of purpose, wealth can feel like a burden rather than a gift. Some disengage. Others quietly resist. Still others walk away altogether, choosing distance over the complexity and tension that the wealth has come to represent. Within Phīla, we’ve served as a trusted advisor at the table navigating these sensitive conversations with families. 

Even philanthropy—so often positioned as a remedy—can fall flat in this context. Without a deeper anchoring, giving may become another obligation, another process to manage, rather than a source of connection or joy.

This is where intentional practice becomes essential. Spiritual capital cannot be engineered or imposed; it must be cultivated through experience, reflection, and dialogue. For many families, this work takes shape in thoughtfully designed spaces where conversation can unfold with both structure and care. 

In my work, I’ve had the privilege of partnering with Chris Koenemann, whose depth in spiritual inquiry and empathy-based facilitation brings a vital dimension to these conversations. Together, we focus less on providing answers and more on creating the conditions for honest, grounded dialogue to emerge.

We recently co-facilitated a family retreat centered on the principle of willing the good of the other. The siblings arrived carrying layers of tension—shaped by differing values, unresolved hurt, and deeply held convictions—and were, at times, on the brink of estrangement. By applying diverse relational frameworks from our toolkits and engaging in artful facilitation, the conversation took a new direction. What unfolded was not resolution in a single moment, but something more meaningful: a renewed sense of connection, belonging, and a willingness to remain in relationship.

By way of a spiritual polarity map, Chris guides families in moving beyond the common pitfalls that make conversations about spirituality so difficult—rigidity on one end, or a flattening of all perspectives on the other. In shifting the conversation from (dogmatic) underpinnings to the fruits of spirituality, that is to the ways by which one’s “meaning beyond oneself” helps one’s life, he opens up safer paths leading to connection, mutual understanding, and purpose.

When these kinds of conversations are integrated with philanthropic decision-making, something shifts. Giving becomes less about consensus and more about shared exploration. It becomes a space where values are not just discussed, but enacted—where families can experience, in real time, what it means to align resources with purpose.

It is worth noting that this kind of work requires time, patience, and a willingness to sit with complexity. It does not scale easily, nor does it lend itself to standardization. And yet, it is precisely this depth that allows families to move from fragmentation toward coherence.

This stands in quiet contrast to a broader trend within the philanthropic and wealth management landscape. Increasingly, philanthropy is being integrated into large, technology-driven platforms—embedded within financial systems, streamlined into workflows, and designed for efficiency at scale. These models offer clear advantages in administration and accessibility, and they have helped bring philanthropic tools to a wider audience.

But there is a risk in mistaking efficiency for effectiveness.

Philanthropy, at its core, is not simply a function to be optimized. It is an expression of values, identity, and relationship. When it is reduced to a series of transactions or engagement cycles, it can become disconnected from the very meaning it is meant to carry. For families already navigating complex dynamics, this can deepen a sense of disconnection rather than resolve it.

No system, however sophisticated, can substitute for the work of building trust, cultivating shared understanding, or engaging the deeper questions that shape how a family relates to its wealth and to one another.

As this generational transfer continues, there is an opportunity—perhaps even an invitation—to expand the conversation. To recognize that the true measure of wealth is not simply what is passed down, but what is carried forward in the process.

Spiritual capital may be the least tangible of the five, but it is, in many ways, the most consequential. It is the thread that weaves meaning through the others. It is what allows financial capital to serve something larger than itself. And it is what makes it possible for families not only to sustain wealth, but to experience it as a source of connection, purpose, and, ultimately, a kind of shared flourishing.