Lewis and Caesar: The Perspective That Wins Glory

What Two Men's Trials Teach Us About Conquering Regret And Achieving Greatness

On his thirty first birthday in 1805, a man lamented, “I had as yet done but little, very little indeed, to further the hapiness of the human race, or to advance the information of the succeeding generation.”¹

The author in question is none other than Merriweather Lewis—the very man that led the Corps of Discovery’s expedition across the western portion of North America.

He wrote this just as he and his team reached the Continental Divide. Overland, he had journeyed farther west than any other American had in history. You’d think he’d feel accomplished. You’d think he’d be proud.

But no, the thing he felt most was regret.

So what did he do?

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In the Mountains, Bierstadt (oil on canvas, 1867). Image via Wikiart.org. Reproduced here under fair use.

He wrote, “I viewed with regret the many hours I have spent in indolence, and now soarly feel the want of that information which those hours would have given me had they been judiciously expended.”²

All he could think about was wasted time.

But Merriweather Lewis wasn’t the only accomplished man to feel this way—during a moment of leisure in the late first century BC, Julius Caesar was reading a history of Alexander the Great. It was said that Caesar surprised his friends when he suddenly burst into tears. They asked him what was wrong, and he replied,

“Do you think I have not just cause to weep, when I consider that Alexander at my age had conquered so many nations, and I have all this time done nothing that is memorable?”³

It’s worth noting that both Lewis and Caesar’s respective episodes occurred when they were in their early thirties.

So what? Are these just two examples of a midlife crisis?

Maybe.

After all, simple answers tend to make things easier.

But what if that isn’t the case? What if Lewis and Caesar weren’t being overdramatic? What would that mean?

For starters, it would mean that our obligations are greater—or, as Matthew McConaughey puts it, “That we have to be more than just happy to be here.” Self-reflection all but proves this: if it were wrong, then we’d never regret being lazy.

But we do. Whether we’d like to admit it or not, our wasted time haunts us. It’s so terrible that most of us flee the very thought of it. In “Wasted Years,” Iron Maiden explores this theme.⁴

But there’s a catch—the song isn’t dismal. If anything, it’s inspiring. Rather than wallow in pity, the lyrics cast agency back on the listener. Repeated four times, the chorus goes,

So understand
Don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years
Face up, make your stand
And realize you're living in the golden years

Julius Caesar, Coustou (marble sculpture, c. 1696). Image detail via Wikimedia. Reproduced here under fair use.

This perspective is lifechanging: wasted time can motivate. Through this view, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure; what defeats one can inspire another. Instead of being prisoners to our past, we have the opportunity to fuel our future.

After all, when we think of Lewis and Caesar, we don’t think of depression and sadness. No. What comes to mind are the Rockies and the Rubicon.

Greatness.

By choice.

“I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by conscious endeavor.”

—Henry David Thoreau

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1. Meriwether Lewis, journal entry, August 18, 1805, in The Journals of the Lewis and Clark Expedition, accessed via https://lewisandclarkjournals.unl.edu/item/lc.jrn.1805-08-18.

2. Ibid.

3. Plutarch, Life of Caesar, trans. John Dryden, in Plutarch’s Lives, accessed via https://classics.mit.edu/Plutarch/caesar.html.

4. Iron Maiden, “Wasted Years,” written by Adrian Smith, track 2 on Somewhere in Time (London: EMI Records, 1986).