MoMA is doubling its space, and I decided to raise the money for

Hear, O listener, the confident and purposeful words of David Rockefeller: “MoMA is doubling its space, and I decided to raise the money for it.” In this simple statement lies a deeper truth about the power of vision, wealth, and responsibility. Rockefeller, heir of a mighty name, knew that great institutions are not born of chance but of will—that art, like civilization itself, requires not only inspiration but also the material foundations that allow it to flourish. His words are not only about MoMA—the Museum of Modern Art—but about the eternal duty of those who possess resources: to ensure that culture and beauty endure for future generations.

For what is a museum but the memory of humanity made visible? In its halls are preserved the colors of painters, the visions of sculptors, the ideas of architects. Without such places, art is scattered, vulnerable to loss and neglect. To expand MoMA was not simply to raise walls of stone and steel, but to build a greater sanctuary for the soul of humanity. Rockefeller understood that the wealth of a nation is not only measured in gold and industry but in the strength of its culture, in the care it shows for the creations of the spirit.

Consider the example of Lorenzo de’ Medici, who in Renaissance Florence used his fortune not only to wield political power but to nurture genius. Michelangelo, Botticelli, and Leonardo da Vinci flourished because Lorenzo saw the duty of wealth as more than accumulation—it was patronage. Just as the Medici shaped the Renaissance by investing in art, so too did Rockefeller see that to raise money for MoMA was to continue a noble tradition: ensuring that creative fire is never extinguished, but given new chambers in which to burn brightly.

Think also of the Library of Alexandria, that ancient beacon of learning. It too required vision, labor, and resources to gather the wisdom of the world under one roof. Though it was lost to fire and neglect, its memory reminds us that institutions of culture must be protected, expanded, and renewed if they are to survive the ages. In this light, Rockefeller’s decision was not merely philanthropy—it was preservation, an act of defiance against the forgetting that devours civilizations when they fail to honor their treasures.

Yet let us not miss the humility in his words: “I decided to raise the money.” He did not claim to create the art, nor to fill the museum with his own hand. Instead, he chose the role of steward and servant to culture. In this lies the wisdom of leadership: to recognize where one’s strength lies, and to use it for the greater good. Not all can paint, not all can sculpt, but those who hold resources can lay foundations so that artists may create, and so that the people may come and learn.

The lesson is profound: those who are blessed with wealth, influence, or skill must see themselves as guardians of more than their own fortunes. They must ask: what will my power build, what will my wealth preserve, what legacy will I leave? For money, when hoarded, dies with the hand that clutches it; but when given for the sake of beauty, truth, and wisdom, it outlives empires. To raise money for art is to build not merely buildings but bridges across generations.

So, O child of tomorrow, carry this teaching: whatever strength you hold—be it wealth, time, knowledge, or skill—use it to expand the space of light in the world. Support that which endures: schools, libraries, galleries, sanctuaries of learning and art. Do not ask only how you may prosper, but how you may help the soul of humanity to prosper. For in the end, as Rockefeller knew, it is not the fortune one keeps but the beauty one builds that reveals the true worth of a life.