The Old Man and the Sea is a work that contains deep reflection on defeat and victory in the struggle between man and nature. Through the story of the old man who lost the fish, it explores what true victory is.
It must have been when I was in high school. I once stayed up all night reading Hemingway’s (1899–1961) The Old Man and the Sea. Overcome with emotion, I watched the dawn break outside my window, feeling as if I myself were aboard a small skiff in the middle of the Caribbean Sea, gazing at the sunrise. And recently, I read The Old Man and the Sea again, and this time too, I faintly tasted that same emotion once more. Why did I feel such emotion in this work, which could be called simple if it were simple?
An old fisherman who hadn’t caught a single fish in 84 days. An old fisherman treated as a jinx by everyone except the boy. One day, he sets out alone into the vast ocean. He goes farther out than usual, farther than any other fisherman. After a two-day, two-night struggle, he catches a giant marlin and heads back to port. But on the way back, sharks, drawn by the scent of blood, devour the entire marlin. By the time the old man reaches the harbor, only the bare bones and the head remain. The old man lies down in his hut and falls asleep, dreaming of lions on the African savannah.
I clearly stayed up all night reading this not-too-long work. It’s a length that could be devoured in one sitting, so I couldn’t have read the novel straight through all night. More likely, I paused several times while reading, recalling scenes from the story, closing the book, and drifting off into dreams.
Yet, reading this work again as I’ve grown older, I find myself immersed in a feeling warmer than anything else. In my youth, I was captivated by the heroic struggle of the old man Santiago alone against the marlin in the vast ocean, and the scenes of him fending off the attacking sharks. I must have felt a deep sense of regret when the sharks devoured the marlin entirely. Back then, I probably didn’t feel the warmth I feel now, or the human and natural affection that has reached a state of serene acceptance. Indeed, classics taste different each time you read them.
The Old Man in The Old Man and the Sea is clearly a hero. He possesses all the elements of a hero. He is incredibly strong, possessing an indomitable spirit and courage. He himself says he is an extraordinary man, and the boy, his apprentice, agrees. Yet, he is quite different from the heroes we often see in other novels. First, he is not a tragic hero. To grasp this difference precisely, one need only briefly compare The Old Man and the Sea to Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick.
While reading The Old Man and the Sea, you likely recalled Moby-Dick. Indeed, The Old Man and the Sea and Moby-Dick are similar novels in many respects. Above all, both are set on the sea, and Captain Ahab’s struggle with the white whale in Moby Dick is similar to old Santiago’s struggle with the marlin in The Old Man and the Sea. But that similarity is where it ends; in many ways, the two novels might be seen as standing at exact opposite poles.
First, the white whale in Moby Dick and the big fish in The Old Man and the Sea are fundamentally different in character. The white whale in Moby Dick is a symbol of evil. Captain Ahab pursues the white whale driven by hatred and vengeance. His heroism lies in facing his inevitable defeat and destruction head-on, even knowing they await him. He is a character who fights against fate, knowing full well he will lose.
But the big fish in The Old Man and the Sea is never an object of hatred or revenge. The old man must kill it, but not because the fish is an enemy. The old man loves the fish, considers it a brother, and even identifies with it. It becomes a relationship where it doesn’t matter who kills whom.
“Fish,” he said softly, aloud, “I love you and respect you very much. But I will kill you dead before this day ends.”
“If I could feed him, I would, he thought. Then he is my brother. But I must kill him and keep strong to do it.”
“Fish, you are killing me,” the old man thought. “But you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more beautiful, or a calmer or more noble thing than you, brother. Come on and kill me. I do not care who kills who.”
…
“Now my head is clear,” he thought. “I have to keep it clear. I must hold my pain where it is and stay strong to last it out. I must hold myself to this just as he does, head clear and knowing the pain as he does. Not one bit of it am I giving up, no matter what comes.”
“You loved him when he was alive and you loved him after. If you love him, it is not a sin to kill him. Or is it more?“
He even thinks that it is not the fish but himself that is being attacked by the sharks.
”He did not want to look at the fish. He knew that half of him had been destroyed. The fish had been mutilated. When the fish had been hit it was as though he himself were hit.”
There is no defeat in that fight, nor victory. It is the fate they chose. The confrontation between the giant fish and the old man is the fate chosen by two heroes. Alone, with no one around to help them, they face the fate they chose. Or rather, they stand together.
“He stayed in the deep water far out beyond all snares and traps and treacheries. My choice was to go there to find him beyond all people. Beyond all people in the world. Now we are joined together and have been since noon. And no one to help either one of us.”
That confrontation is a beautiful confrontation. It is not a battle driven by hatred, revenge, jealousy, envy, or greed. It is a fight where each feels affection for the other, where each feels the other is part of their own body; a fight where it matters not who kills whom. Therefore, that fight is a beautiful fight, a noble fight, a heroic fight.
The reason they must fight to the death is partly because the old man and the fish are heroes, but also because the fight itself is destiny and the law of nature. The old man fights the fish desperately, but it is never a bloody fight where he must kill the other or die, a fight to survive at all costs. It is, exquisitely, a gentle fight.
“Fish,” he said, “I will stay with you until I am dead.”
It is a humble fight in the sense that it conforms to and follows the laws of nature, and a courageous fight in the sense that it is accompanied by the resolve never to be defeated. Hence, the following famous declaration emerges.
“But man is not made for defeat,” he said. “A man can be destroyed but not defeated. “
Captain Ahab of Moby Dick is defeated and destroyed in his battle with the white whale. And in The Old Man and the Sea, the old man is clearly destroyed. After a difficult struggle, his catch is torn apart by sharks, and in fighting the sharks, he loses all his gear. But he says he may be destroyed, but he cannot be defeated. He means he never succumbed mentally. That battle isn’t over in a single fight; it can continue as long as he lives. Because that is the law of nature. Therefore, he is a humble being who never loses courage. To be defeated is to lower one’s tail. He who lowers his tail is a coward. The phrase “destroyed, but never defeated” is synonymous with never lowering one’s tail while simultaneously humbly conforming to nature’s law. Thus, one could also say: The opposite of courage is not humility, but cowardice. We can possess courage while remaining humble. Conversely, we can be arrogant while being cowardly. Therefore, the opposite of courage may actually be arrogance. The opposite of humility may be cowardice. Courage and humility form a pair, while arrogance and cowardice form another. To reach ruin without defeat is akin to never losing courage or hope. That is why The Old Man and the Sea, unlike Moby Dick, is hopeful rather than tragic. It is warm, not cold or grim. Perhaps it’s because Hemingway wrote it near the end of his life. And I suppose I’ve grown older too. I like that human scent, that hopeful scent. No, maybe it was precisely that human scent that captivated me when I read The Old Man and the Sea in my youth. Isn’t loving warm humanity something unrelated to age? Wasn’t I also captivated by the following sentence, which now seems so beautiful?
“It is silly not to hope,” he thought. “Besides, I believe it is a sin. Do not think about sin. There are enough problems now without sin. Also I have no understanding of it.
“I do not even know what sin is,“ he thought. ”I know what it is to be hungry, and I know what it is to suffer, but I do not know what sin is. Maybe killing the fish is a sin, but I don’t care. There are many people who think about sin and that is their business. I am not one of them.”
“But the old man liked to think about all things that were connected with him, and since there was no one else to talk to, he thought a great deal. He thought about sin. It was not that you killed the fish only to eat, or to sell it for food, he thought. You killed him for pride and because you are a fisherman. You loved him when he was alive and you loved him after. If you loved him, it is not a sin to kill him. Or is it more?”
Let me add one more thing. That love and affection and hope for nature, that affection and hope for fate, also gives birth to affection between people. It’s a very simple sentence, but I really like the following passage.
“He thought, ‘They shouldn’t worry about me so much. Of course the boy will be worried. But he has faith in me. The old fishermen will worry. Others will, too.’ He thought, ‘I live in a good town.’”
The sense of solidarity he felt toward nature, far out at sea, isolated from people, connects to a sense of solidarity among people.
“The old man looked at the distant water. He was alone but he was not lonely. He had the prism of the sea, the line, and the quiet waves. Clouds were gathering, sign of the trade winds. The ducks flew over and disappeared. They reappeared and he saw them clearly against the sky. Yes, he thought, at sea there is no loneliness.”
I say this because I sometimes see how love for nature and animals can turn into hatred for all things human. Isn’t it more natural for love of nature to lead to love for people and life? What matters isn’t the dichotomy between nature and animals/humans, but love that encompasses them all. Like Santiago in The Old Man and the Sea, feeling alive in every moment, loving all living things—even death itself.
The Old Man and the Sea was published in the September 1, 1952, special issue of the newsweekly Life. Thanks to this story, the magazine sold millions of copies within two days of publication, achieving instant popularity. Released as a book a week later, The Old Man and the Sea had an initial print run of 50,000 copies and remained on bestseller lists for over half a year. In May 1953, it won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, and in 1954, Hemingway received the Nobel Prize in Literature largely due to this novel. The film adaptation, directed by John Sturges in 1958, featured Spencer Tracy in the lead role of the old man Santiago. This film captured the depth of the original work and showcased Tracy’s outstanding performance.
Hemingway’s life was truly dazzling. He was a writer, a journalist, and a sportsman. Moreover, he possessed a character that rarely settled in one place. He was born in 1899 in Oak Park, Illinois, USA, the second of six children to his father, Clarence Hemingway, a physician, and his mother, Grace Hemingway, a music teacher. After graduating high school in 1917, he forgoes college and takes a job as a trainee reporter at The Kansas City Star newspaper. In 1918, he volunteers as an ambulance driver for the American Red Cross and is deployed to the Italian front. As mentioned earlier, ‘A Farewell to Arms’ is a novel based on his experiences during this time. Severely wounded in the leg, he returned home and resumed his career as a journalist. In 1922, he was dispatched to Turkey, visited Spain, and briefly stayed in Toronto, Canada. After gaining literary fame with The Sun Also Rises in 1926, he did not remain a ‘study writer’ but went to Paris, France, in 1927. In 1928, he left France and moved to Key West, Florida, USA. When the Spanish Civil War broke out in 1936, he covered it in 1937 as a correspondent for the North American Press Association. In 1939, he purchased a small farm outside Havana, Cuba, and settled there, immersing himself in writing. The following year, in 1940, he published ‘For Whom The Bell Tolls,’ set against the backdrop of the Spanish Civil War. During World War II in 1942, he volunteered for the U.S. Navy, participating in operations to hunt German submarines. From 1943, he covered the Normandy landings and the entry into Paris as a newspaper and magazine correspondent. After World War II ended, he received a government medal in recognition of his service in the German submarine hunt.
In 1952, he published The Old Man and the Sea, winning the Pulitzer Prize. While traveling in Africa in 1954, he suffered serious injuries in two separate plane crashes, leading to worldwide rumors of his death. That same year, he became the fifth American author to win the Nobel Prize in Literature.
He left Cuba forever in 1961 when Castro came to power. Suffering from depression and alcoholism, he committed suicide with a shotgun on July 2. It was later revealed that the cause of his suicide was hemochromatosis, a type of hereditary disease. His father had also committed suicide with a pistol in 1928, and among his sisters and brothers, there were others who took their own lives due to the same disease. This condition, known to cause cirrhosis, diabetes, arthritis, and other ailments, is also associated with mental illness. Incidentally, his wanderlust seemingly extended to women as well; he divorced three times and married four times in his lifetime.
Hemingway consistently ranks first among Americans’ favorite American authors, and his works are included in textbooks.
