If you have a success you have it for the wrong reasons. If you

The warrior of words, Ernest Hemingway, once spoke with the bitterness of truth: “If you have a success you have it for the wrong reasons. If you become popular it is always because of the worst aspects of your work.” In this confession lies the lament of the true artist, who knows that what moves the crowd is often not what he values most in his labor. For the multitude rarely honors depth, discipline, or subtlety—they grasp at the surface, the spectacle, the easier truths. Hemingway reminds us that success and popularity are not always the crowns of excellence, but sometimes the shadows that follow it.

The ancients too spoke of this tension. Plato himself distrusted the poets who performed for the masses, for he believed that what pleased the ear often corrupted the soul. He feared that popularity would be bought not by truth, but by flattery. And indeed, through history, many who wrote with honesty were ignored, while those who pandered to the crowd were crowned. Hemingway, hardened by war, by solitude, by the struggle of writing itself, saw this clearly: that the aspects of his work most beloved by the crowd were often those he least esteemed.

Consider the story of Vincent van Gogh. In his lifetime, he was nearly invisible, his canvases unsold, his genius unnoticed. What he valued—the storm of emotion, the brush of eternity upon the canvas—was too raw for his generation. Yet long after his death, his paintings became immensely popular. But many who loved “Starry Night” gazed only at its beauty, missing the torment, the desperation, the yearning that gave it life. In this way, popularity revealed not the best of Van Gogh’s work, but what was easiest for others to consume.

Hemingway himself lived this paradox. Readers adored the violence, the battles, the drinking, the women in his tales. They thrilled at the blood and smoke, but too often ignored the silences, the restraint, the aching simplicity that were his true art. They saw the surface of the iceberg, not the vast depth below. Thus he spoke in frustration: success is too often won for the wrong reasons, and popularity arises not from what is most true, but from what is most shallow.

The teaching here is not to despise success, but to be wary of it. For success is a poor judge of worth, and popularity is a treacherous guide. If you measure your work only by applause, you will be tempted to nourish the worst parts of yourself, the parts that entertain rather than enlighten. But if you labor for truth, for integrity, for the soul of your craft, you may not be celebrated in your own time—yet your work will endure when applause has long faded.

The lesson for us is clear: seek not to please the crowd, but to remain faithful to your deepest vision. If popularity comes, accept it humbly, but do not mistake it for confirmation that you have done your best. Often it is only proof that you have shown what was easiest for others to see. Instead, build your life and your craft on the foundation of honesty and discipline. Let the hidden parts of the iceberg remain, for in time, they will reveal their strength.

Practically, this means creating and living without obsession over recognition. Write your truth even if few read it. Speak your heart even if only one listens. Work with accuracy, depth, and courage, even if the world prefers simplicity and noise. For the approval of the multitude is fleeting, but the approval of your own conscience endures.

Thus, let Hemingway’s words stand as a stern reminder: success may come for the wrong reasons, and popularity may exalt the worst of you. Therefore, cling not to them as signs of greatness. Instead, hold fast to your craft, your truth, your integrity. The world may or may not honor it, but in the end, the true reward is not in being celebrated, but in having created something that bears the weight of honesty and endures beyond the crowd’s applause.