The other night, I was watching a crime drama. You know the type—dark lighting, brooding protagonist, improbable genius wrapped in a trench coat. The hero in question, a brilliant forensic scientist, was offered a “big job upstairs”—a fast-track promotion. He politely declined with a simple line that hit me like a slap in the brain:
“Ambition is the last refuge of failure.”
Now that’s a quote. And the more I let it marinate, the more it made uncomfortable sense—especially when applied to, say…politicians. Or, frankly, anyone who’s ever clawed their way to the top without seeming to bring much else with them.
Most of us, I think, start our careers with good intentions. Idealism. Purpose. We convince ourselves that we’ll rise through talent alone, that the ladder will appear under our feet simply because we’re too brilliant to be ignored. But somewhere along the way, if the world doesn’t cooperate with our plan, something shifts.
Impatience takes over. Frustration festers. And when that doesn’t get us where we want to go, blind ambition steps in.
That’s the real poison. You stop chasing your goals and start chasing success—any kind, at any cost. It’s not about making anything better anymore. It’s just about being seen. Being rewarded. Being applauded. And suddenly, you’re not moving toward a purpose—you’re just moving. Running. Grasping.
There’s a Bible verse that fits this mess perfectly: “Everyone does what is right in their own eyes.” That line always stuck with me. I’m convinced it applies to everyone from historical tyrants to the guy two doors down. People don’t set out to be villains. They just start seeing their own version of right as the only version. And by the time history gets around to pointing out that they were wrong—very wrong—they’re usually dead, with no time left for reflection.
It’s easy to recognize this in politics, where ambition wears a flashy tie and a photo-op smile. But it exists everywhere. I saw it during my engineering days.
Years ago, a colleague and I spent about a year developing a system to inspect jet engine parts for a company that shall remain nameless. We poured over the software and data, making sure every line of code and every detail served the mission. When we were finally done, my associate invited me to a user seminar where our work would be showcased. I showed up, proud and curious.
Then the first presenter got on stage. A man I’d never met. He fired up a slideshow—the very one I had put together—and began presenting it as his own work. No mention of me. Not even my colleague. Just him, basking in applause for a project he’d had nothing to do with. I sat there, stunned, slack-jawed, with a mix of anger and amusement. The urge to “reward” him behind the dumpster was…strong.
I never confronted him. Never raised it with anyone. But I still carry it with me, burned into my memory like a cheap tattoo.
Why did he do it? Why does anyone do it?
Blind ambition.
A craving for credit.
The last refuge of failure.
If you’ve lived long enough, I’m sure you’ve got your own version of this story. Someone who climbed over you with a smile. Someone who took more than they gave. And if you’re being really honest, maybe you’ve caught yourself in the mirror, once or twice, holding that same blind hunger in your own eyes.
We all want to matter. We all want to win. But if ambition becomes the goal instead of the tool, then all we’ve really done is trade our principles for praise.
And that, my friends, is the most polite failure of them all.
