From Stick and Rudder by Wolfgang Langewiesche, page 9, published 1944:
The main fact of all heavier-than-air flight is this: the wing keeps the airplane up by pushing the air down.
It shoves the air down with its bottom surface, and it pulls the air down with its top surface; the latter action is the more important. But the really important thing to understand is that the wing, in whatever fashion, makes the air go down. In exerting a downward force upon the air, the wing receives an upward counterforce--by the same principle, known as Newton's law of action and reaction, which makes a gun recoil as it shoves the bullet out forward; and which makes the nozzle of a fire hose press backward heavily against the fireman as it shoots out a stream of water forward. Air is heavy; sea-level air weights about 2 pounds per cubic yard; thus, as your wings give a downward push to a cubic yard after cubic yard of that heavy stuff, they get upward reactions that are equally hefty.
That's what keeps an airplane up. Newton's law says that, if the wing pushes the air down, the air must push the wing up. It also puts the same thing the other way 'round: if the wing is to hold the airplane up in the fluid, ever-yielding air, it can do so only by pushing the air down. All the fancy physics of Bernoulli's Theorem, all the highbrow math of the circulation theory, all the diagrams showing the airflow on a wing--all that is only an elaboration and more detailed description of just how Newton's law fulfills itself--for instance, the rather interesting but (for the pilot) really quite useless observation that the wing does most of its downwashing work by suction, with its top surface. ...
Thus, if you will forget some of this excessive erudition, a wing becomes much easier to understand; it is in the last analysis nothing but an air deflector. It is an inclined plane, cleverly curved, to be sure, and elaborately streamlined, but still essentially an inclined plane. That's, after all, why that whole fascinating contraption of ours is called an air-plane.
I like this explanation a lot. I will deploy it on my eight year old; she has always been disatisfied by my explanations of how wings work - as have I.
I'd also like to extend my thanks to the submitter of the story.
I would argue with Mr Langewiesche that it's not at all useless for the pilot to understand that the top surface of the wing sucks air down. Ice doesn't cause plane crashes just due to adding extra weight. It also changes the shape of the wing, making the top surface less effective at sucking air down. That's very useful information for pilots.
Great description. But then I read the XKCD mentioned in another commend, and started wondering how plains fly upside down then? When inverted the "top" of the wing would push the plane down, no?
Planes that often fly upside down typically have low camber wings. Some of them have almost symmetrical wings. Those wings have less lift in upright flight than a more highly cambered wing would, so (and for other reasons too) the manufacturers compensate with bigger engines.
Thats the camber and it depending on the type of wing and airspeed it can play a small role in inducing lift.
What's more important is the angle of attack. The leading edge of the wing is grabbing air and pushing it down. Camber helps by creating a low pressure system over the top that sucks the plane up. And finally, the trailing edge helps because you have laminar air leaving the plane at a particular vector, the Koanda effect.
The main fact of all heavier-than-air flight is this: the wing keeps the airplane up by pushing the air down.
It shoves the air down with its bottom surface, and it pulls the air down with its top surface; the latter action is the more important. But the really important thing to understand is that the wing, in whatever fashion, makes the air go down. In exerting a downward force upon the air, the wing receives an upward counterforce--by the same principle, known as Newton's law of action and reaction, which makes a gun recoil as it shoves the bullet out forward; and which makes the nozzle of a fire hose press backward heavily against the fireman as it shoots out a stream of water forward. Air is heavy; sea-level air weights about 2 pounds per cubic yard; thus, as your wings give a downward push to a cubic yard after cubic yard of that heavy stuff, they get upward reactions that are equally hefty.
That's what keeps an airplane up. Newton's law says that, if the wing pushes the air down, the air must push the wing up. It also puts the same thing the other way 'round: if the wing is to hold the airplane up in the fluid, ever-yielding air, it can do so only by pushing the air down. All the fancy physics of Bernoulli's Theorem, all the highbrow math of the circulation theory, all the diagrams showing the airflow on a wing--all that is only an elaboration and more detailed description of just how Newton's law fulfills itself--for instance, the rather interesting but (for the pilot) really quite useless observation that the wing does most of its downwashing work by suction, with its top surface. ...
Thus, if you will forget some of this excessive erudition, a wing becomes much easier to understand; it is in the last analysis nothing but an air deflector. It is an inclined plane, cleverly curved, to be sure, and elaborately streamlined, but still essentially an inclined plane. That's, after all, why that whole fascinating contraption of ours is called an air-plane.