The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City contains an incalculable treasure of artwork. There are so many paintings, sculptures, prints, pottery, enamels, household items and other works of art that it would be impossible to take in the entire collection. And the rumor persists that the Metropolitan is not capable of displaying all of its treasures. For every gallery of public display there are vaults and vaults of artworks that are not on display. I do not know what percentage of the treasures of the Metropolitan are on display. But there are individual pieces of art on display with values that cannot be calculated.

The metropolitan Museum of Art’s earliest roots date back to 1866 in Paris, France, when a group of Americans agreed to create a national institution and gallery of art to bring art and art education to the American people. The main building, on Fifth Avenue in New York and the Cloisters Museum and Gardens are two physical spaces that are the focus of the collection, but the reach of the museum extends beyond these physical spaces in New York. It is constantly engaged in collecting, exchanging and exhibiting artwork around the world.

Consider Rembrandt, for example. The artist did all of his work in two cities in Holland, Leiden and Amsterdam. He never traveled outside of Holland, though he did study the work of Northern artists who had lived in Italy, like Lastman, van Honthorst, van Dyck, Elsheimer and Rubens. He was a prolific painter, draftsman, and etcher. Though Rembrandt never traveled abroad, his paintings have. The Metropolitan owns so many Rembrandts that they don’t all fit in one room. The permanent Rembrandt display extends out of the main gallery, around a corner and into an antechamber as well. I don’t know how many Rembrandts the Metropolitan owns, but the number is more than thirty. They were probably acquired for prices in the hundreds of thousands of dollars up to several million. In today’s art world, the value of each of the paintings is probably many millions. You could make a study of the artist without leaving the shores of the United States.

Consider just one of the paintings: Aristotle with a Bust of Homer is an imaginary portrait of Aristotle, the Greek philosopher. In the painting, his right hand rests on the head of a bust of Homer, the epic poet of an earlier age. In the painting, Aristotle has a medallion depicting Alexander the Great hanging from an elaborate gold chain that wraps around his body. When you look at the painting, your eyes immediately go to the brilliant chain. The chain is supposed to depict earthly honor and wealth. In the painting it certainly makes the philosopher appear to be a man of wealth and substance. The eye is also drawn to the ring on the little finger of Aristotle’s left hand. I have studied the history of philosophy, but I never contemplated Aristotle’s earthly wealth. It has always seemed to me that wealth wasn’t important to the philosopher. The painting, in a sense, shocks me.

Less apparent in the painting is the expression on Aristotle’s face. His dark beard almost blends into the dark cloak he is wearing and his eyes are not looking at the painter, but rather the bust of Homer. In the painting, of course. Homer is dead and Aristotle still living. The painting doesn’t depict a real event, but rather an event of the imagination. And my imagination can run away with the scene. Is Aristotle comparing the value of earthly wealth to eternal recognition? Is he wondering about his own contributions to the long-term body of human knowledge and understanding? Is he wondering how he will be remembered? Is he aware that the “bling” does not give meaning or depth to his life? Is he aware of the vast difference between spiritual values and worldly success?

In the painting shadows descend over Aristotle’s brow and eyes while his hands are bathed in light, especially the right hand. I think that I could spend a lot of time contemplating the painting.

I have never seen the painting. In fact, I have never been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I have only toured the collection with the aid of my computer and the Museum’s easy-to-use online resource. I’ve zoomed in and examined the detail of the paining, backed off and looked at it as if from a distance. I’ve imagined what it might be like to stand in the gallery and look at the actual painting. It is something that I might one day do. I’ve been to New York. I could go again. I could find Gallery 618 and have a look.

Likely, I would be overwhelmed with all of the other Rembrandts and all of the other paintings. Were I to go to the museum, it would be difficult to know what to view first. Should I look at the works of Leonardo or a van Eyck? Would I be amazed to look at Renoir’s “By the Seashore?” Would a day be long enough to contemplate Cezanne’s “Man with a Straw Hat?” I’m told it doesn’t hang far from Monet’s “La Grenouillere.” How could I go to the museum without spending time in front of Degas’s “Women with Chrysanthemums?” Any one of the paintings is worthy of a lifetime of viewing. The collection, taken as a whole, is like that gold chain around Aristotle in the Rembrandt painting – a luxury of wealth that is so stunning it is overwhelming. Its worth cannot be contemplated. And it fades when compared to the eternal.

The paintings survive much longer than the artists who create them. They outlast the curators who collect them. They are around after the funerals of the donors who gave millions. They are remembered when the names of the others are forgotten. But they too are ethereal in the vastness of history. They exist in a physical sense for just a small amount of time. Perhaps Homer’s words will remain after the paintings have disappeared into the depths of time. Perhaps the words will also have been forgotten. Nothing human is permanent.

But the encounter between that which is permanent and that which is passing is somehow represented in a painting in a powerful way. I sense it and yet I haven’t even seen that painting.

How much more in this life is there that deserves a second and a third look?

In fact, I don’t need a museum. Above the desk where I am writing is an east-facing window. In a little while the sun will rise with a glory that is quickly passing and yet at the same time eternal. There is enough in that view for a lifetime of contemplation.

My time in this life is short and the timing is critical. Still I have been given the opportunity to contemplate the eternal. The sun will rise whether or not I look at it. Perhaps, just perhaps one of the ideas that Aristotle contemplated has come, for a brief moment, to my consciousness.

But our thoughts, too, are fleeting. They are soon gone and we are gone with them. And in the brief moments that we have we are given the opportunity to look at the sunrise, a glory that exists beyond anything that we can imagine. How fortunate to have eyes to see and a mind to contemplate!

Glory!

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