VENTIDIUS O, Silius, Silius,
I have done enough. A lower place, note well,
May make too great an act. For learn this, Silius:
Better to leave undone than by our deed
Acquire too high a fame when him we serve’s away.
Caesar and Antony have ever won
More in their officer than person. Sossius,
One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant,
For quick accumulation of renown,
Which he achieved by th’ minute, lost his favour.
Who does i’th’ wars more than his captain can
Becomes his captain’s captain; and ambition,
The soldier’s virtue, rather makes choice of loss
Than gain which darkens him.
I could do more to do Antonius good,
But ’twould offend him, and in his offence
Should my performance perish. (3.1.11-27)
Ventidius is, it seems, second cousin to Enobarbus; he’s not a cynic and a renegade (yet) but he is a realist and a pragmatist and an old soldier, and what had started as a scene of Roman heroism and so honour quickly loses its gloss. O Silius, Silius, he says, be realistic. I have done enough; I’ve inflicted defeat on an old enemy, and added a sharply symbolic humiliation in the killing of Pacorus, whose body lies here. But a lower place—and even one of my rank is lower than our leaders, our generals, and Antony in particular—note well (life lesson incoming, lad) a a lower place may make too great an act. It is possible to be too much of a hero, and that too much is entirely tied to rank and status. For learn this, Silius—this is the big takeaway—better to leave undone than by our deed acquire too high a fame when him we serve’s away. It’s better not to do the heroic thing at all than to do it autonomously, out of our own initiative, because the risk is, it might make him we serve, our captain, our designated leader look bad, or even redundant. No, better to keep our heads down a bit, in the ranks, below the parapet. We don’t want to be seen as getting above ourselves, or as a threat. We are, after all, here to serve. Ventidius is entirely realistic, he knows that both Caesar and Antony have ever won more in their officer than person; they’ve achieved more victories by proxy, as the notional generals of their troops, than through their own actions directly. That’s just the way it is; that’s what leadership means, sometimes. Look at old Sossius, one of my place in Syria, same rank as me, and like me Antony’s lieutenant. He went too far, he did, and for the quick accumulation of renown, the way he gained a reputation, covered himself with glory, which he achieved by the minute, relentlessly, unstoppably—well, that was his downfall. Too far, too fast: he lost his favour. His success was his downfall.
Because—and this is the truth, Silius—who does in the wars more than his captain can becomes his captain’s captain. If you achieve too much, it looks like you’re deliberately out-performing the boss, out-classing him on purpose, and aiming to displace him. Not a good look. No, it’s a long game, and it calls for judgement and discrimination: ambition, which is the soldier’s virtue (see Othello, Macbeth…) rather makes choice of loss than gain, which darkens him. If you’re really ambitious, if you want to get somewhere in the long run, be promoted steadily and win favour securely, sometimes you need to know when to stop, when to hold back, when not to go the extra mile, because sometimes that’ll serve you better than success, which can backfire. Sure, I could do more to do Antonius good. I know that; I could carry on with this mission, hunt down every last Parthian. But that initiative, and that level of achievement—it’d risk annoying Antony, he might think I was trying to show him up, the fact that I was doing it, leading the men, here on the ground, rather than him. It would offend him. It’d only draw attention to the fact that he’s leading in name only. And if he got annoyed with me, well, in his offence should my performance perish. It’d all be for nothing, I’d be in disgrace, persona non grata. Heroism and triumph: it’s all about keeping it in proportion, Silius, doing just enough, and never too much.