the sea as a friend

In Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea, the sea is not merely a setting or an adversary but a deeply personal, living presence that Santiago, the old fisherman, regards as a friend. He thinks of the sea as la mar, the feminine Spanish term, and believes she gives or withholds great favors, doing wild or wicked things only because she cannot help them. This personification transforms the ocean from a neutral expanse into a companion with moods, a being he loves and respects even when she is cruel. The sea is the arena of his life's work, the source of his sustenance, and the stage for his ultimate trial, and his attitude toward it is one of enduring, almost familial, loyalty.

The Sea as a Feminine and Generous Force

Santiago consistently thinks of the sea as feminine, calling her la mar as people do when they love her. He rejects the younger fishermen's masculine term el mar, which frames the ocean as a contestant or an enemy. For Santiago, the sea is a woman who gives or withholds great favors, and if she does wild or wicked things, it is because she cannot help them. The moon affects her as it does a woman, he reflects, and he loves to see the big sea turtles eating the Portuguese men-of-war, which he calls agua mala ("you whore"), because the turtles approach them from the front, shut their eyes, and eat them filaments and all. This love for the sea's creatures extends to the flying fish, which he calls his principal friends on the ocean, and the porpoises, which he says "play and make jokes and love one another" and are "our brothers." Even the tiny shrimps he shakes from Gulf weed and eats are part of the sea's provision, and he notes that the dark water of the true gulf is the greatest healer there is.

The Fish as Brother and the Sea as Shared Home

Santiago's friendship with the sea culminates in his relationship with the great marlin he hooks. He calls the fish his brother, saying, "I have never seen or heard of such a fish. But I must kill him." He is sorry for the fish that has nothing to eat, yet his determination to kill him never relaxes. He reflects that no one is worthy of eating the fish from the manner of his behavior and his great dignity. After killing the marlin, he thinks, "You loved him when he was alive and you loved him after. If you love him, it is not a sin to kill him." The sea is the home they share, and Santiago's bond with the fish is an extension of his bond with the ocean itself. He feels that the fish and his two hands are three things that are brothers, and he wishes he could feed the fish, acknowledging, "He is my brother." Even in defeat, when the sharks have destroyed the marlin, he apologizes to the fish: "I shouldn't have gone out so far, fish. Neither for you nor for me. I'm sorry, fish."

The Sea's Cruelty and the Limits of Friendship

Santiago's friendship with the sea does not blind him to its dangers. He knows the ocean can be cruel, and that it comes suddenly. He pities the small, delicate dark terns that are always flying and looking and almost never finding, and he thinks, "Why did they make birds so delicate and fine as those sea swallows when the ocean can be so cruel?" He also recognizes that the sea contains enemies: the sharks, especially the galanos (shovel-nosed sharks), which are hateful, bad-smelling scavengers as well as killers. After the sharks have mutilated the marlin, he says, "I wish it were a dream and that I had never hooked him. I'm sorry about it, fish. It makes everything wrong." Yet even then, he does not curse the sea. He accepts that the wind is his friend, sometimes, and that the great sea contains both friends and enemies. He thinks, "The wind is our friend, anyway. Then he added, sometimes. And the great sea with our friends and our enemies." The sea's friendship is conditional, but Santiago's loyalty to it is not.

The Sea as Sustainer and Healer

The sea provides Santiago with food, water, and healing. He eats the shrimps from the Gulf weed, the bonito, and the dolphin, and he soaks his cut hands in the salt water, knowing it will heal them. He thinks, "The dark water of the true gulf is the greatest healer that there is." The sea also gives him the current that does a third of the work of rowing, and the trade wind that helps him sail home. After the fight, he sails lightly, and the skiff moves well because there is no great weight beside her. He feels he is inside the current now and can see the lights of the beach colonies along the shore. The sea has carried him home, even though he has lost the marlin's meat. He reflects that he has half of the fish, and maybe he will have the luck to bring the forward half in. The sea, in its vastness, has both taken and given, and Santiago accepts this as the nature of their friendship.

The Enduring Bond Beyond Defeat

In the end, Santiago's friendship with the sea remains intact despite his physical defeat. He tells the boy, "They beat me, Manolin. They truly beat me," but he does not blame the sea. He says, "I went out too far," accepting responsibility. The sea has given him the greatest fish of his life, and though sharks destroyed it, the experience itself is a testament to their bond. The old man dreams of the lions on the beach, a recurring dream of his youth in Africa, and the sea is the backdrop of that dream. The sea as a friend is not a sentimental notion but a hard-won, practical, and spiritual relationship that defines Santiago's identity as a fisherman and as a man. He lives by the code of the fisherman, which includes respecting the sea and its creatures, and he never breaks that code, even when the sea takes everything from him.