the planes
The planes in The Old Man and the Sea are a rare, fleeting intrusion of the modern, mechanized world into Santiago's elemental, solitary struggle on the sea. They appear only twice in the narrative, yet each appearance carries significant weight, contrasting the old man's intimate, physical battle with a distant, technological realm that is both unaware of and indifferent to his epic journey. The planes function as a marker of the world Santiago has left behind, a world of communication, speed, and collective effort that stands in stark opposition to his slow, silent, and deeply personal contest with the marlin and the sharks.
The Plane as a Distant Observer and a Link to the World
The first and most vivid appearance of a plane occurs during the second day of Santiago's ordeal, as he is locked in his struggle with the great marlin. An airplane passes overhead on its course to Miami, and Santiago watches its shadow scaring up schools of flying fish. This moment is a brief, almost surreal interruption of his isolation. The plane, a symbol of human technology and speed, traverses the sky at an altitude and pace utterly alien to the old man's world of slow, patient rowing and the steady pull of a fishing line. Santiago's reaction is one of wonder and curiosity: he imagines what the sea looks like from that height, and he wishes he could fly slowly at two hundred fathoms high to see the fish from above. This thought reveals his deep, almost childlike desire for a different perspective on his own struggle, a perspective that the plane, with its detached, god-like view, could provide. The plane's presence also serves as a reminder of the baseball games and the world of the great DiMaggio that Santiago follows so closely, a world of organized competition and public glory that is utterly remote from his private, unobserved battle. The plane, in its silent passage, is a witness that does not know it is witnessing, a link to a civilization that has no idea of the drama unfolding below.
The Planes as a Search Party and a Symbol of Community Concern
The second mention of planes comes after Santiago's return, when he is asleep in his shack, exhausted and beaten. The boy, Manolin, tells him that the coast guard and planes had been sent to search for him. This revelation transforms the plane from a distant, indifferent observer into a tool of communal concern and organized rescue. The fact that planes were deployed underscores the seriousness of Santiago's disappearance and the collective worry of the fishing community. It also highlights the vastness of the ocean and the smallness of Santiago's skiff, which the old man himself acknowledges: "The ocean is very big and a skiff is small and hard to see." The planes, with their ability to cover great distances and scan the sea from above, represent the most advanced technology available to find him, yet they failed. This failure reinforces the theme of Santiago's profound isolation; even with the resources of the modern world, he was alone in his fight. The planes, in this context, become a symbol of the gap between the community's desire to help and the fundamental solitude of the individual's struggle against nature. They are a reminder that, ultimately, Santiago's victory and his defeat were his alone, witnessed only by the sea, the fish, and the sharks.
The Contrast Between the Plane and Santiago's World
The plane's presence in the narrative creates a powerful contrast between two modes of existence. Santiago's world is one of direct, physical engagement with the elements: the feel of the line on his back, the taste of raw fish, the sight of the stars, the smell of the land breeze. It is a world of slowness, patience, and endurance, where every action has an immediate, tangible consequence. The plane, by contrast, represents speed, distance, and abstraction. It flies high above the water, untouched by the sea's dangers, and its occupants are detached from the life-and-death struggles occurring below. Santiago's fantasy of being in the plane, of seeing the fish from above, is a wish to transcend his own physical limitations, to gain a perspective that his position in the skiff denies him. Yet, he remains firmly in his boat, his hands bleeding, his back aching, his fate tied to the line he holds. The plane, therefore, is not just a plot device but a thematic counterpoint, emphasizing the raw, unmediated nature of Santiago's experience and the profound gulf between the modern, technological world and the ancient, primal contest of man against the sea.
