A unique bond

Passing thought

HORSES ARE BEAU TIF UL TO LOOK AT, and exciting to ride. eir smell is alluring, and their smooth coats invite you to touch, to pat and to stroke. Probably no animal more directly appeals to the human senses and the human heart. But all this is nothing besides the unique bond between horse and rider, whereby each makes use of the other’s best endowment – the legs of the horse, and the brain of the man. e resulting centaur is equipped to triumph over dangers that neither horse nor man could conf ront alone. Stephen Budiansky has even argued that our two species have survived only because we learned to pool our resources, so heavily were the evolutionary odds stacked against us. (See e Nature of Horses, London 1998.)

Whether or not that is true, those who have entrusted themselves to a horse in some risky adventure – be it polo, hunting, racing or even a cavalry charge – will have some inkling of the extraordinary mutuality that arises between man and horse when facing danger together. He trusts you because you trust him because he trusts you – and so on to infi nity, the deep infi nity of our species bond.

To the ignorant observer, a rider is simply a person sitting on a horse, who uses bit and boots to start and stop the vehicle beneath him. It is an organic vehicle, entirely biodegradable. But in every other respect it is inferior to a car, and not much preferable to a bicycle. To the practised rider, however, the horse is not a vehicle at all, but an extension of himself. e legs move with a human will, just as the thoughts and plans arise f rom a body with four feet on the ground. You do not make the horse turn: the two of you turn together, with a single movement that originates in your common brain.

You do not stop the horse or start him; you move off as one, and come to a halt together. Every little movement is informed by the same mutuality of impulse, and every muscle is jointly owned. Your fi ngers play the bridle as a

by Roger Scruton

What explains the unique bond between horse and rider? A leading philosopher offers a personal view

pianist plays the keyboard, in a dialogue so intimate that the player becomes the played. e horse’s mouth is your true fi ngertip, and the tremor in the rein continues the pulse in your nerves. Likewise, the movement in your back and neck begins in his hindquarters, and your eyes move in obedience to his feet. Together you master the land, and at no point should there be the slightest diff erence of opinion as to how and how fast to traverse it.

If diff erences of opinion arise nevertheless, the result is a kind of schizophrenia, as action and intention fall apart. When a horse refuses a fence he rolls his eyes and puts back his ears, showing that he has lost contact with his central

nervous system, just as the rider’s startled face reveals that he has lost the use of his limbs. Neither horse nor rider enjoys this moment, since happiness for both lies in complete surrender to a collective movement. But when harmony prevails their faces radiate serenity. eir togetherness is akin to that of a happy marriage, with four eyes looking at a common target, and four feet going towards it at their own considered pace. One of the most interesting results of this togetherness is the jump. Left to themselves horses seldom jump, and can be kept in a fi eld by the lowest of fences. When ridden at those fences, however, they will jump smoothly over them. is fact proves the essential incompleteness of the horse. He will jump as part of the herd; but alone, as an individual, he lacks the will. Because I treat my horse as an individual, therefore, I see him as incomplete – or rather, as something to be completed, and completed by me. From this fact fl ows all the emotion that I pour into our subsequent union. I would not call this emotion lo ve: it is both more visceral and more distant than love, requiring me both to surrender to the horse’s rhythms and at the same time to govern his will. Nevertheless, it is one of the most rewarding emotions that a human being can feel. From it spring all the gestures of endearment, all the tender caresses and pleasurable gifts that our horses enjoy. And even if they do not understand these gestures as a human would – for after all, they lack the concept of gift, and regard us, when on our feet, as amazing and perplexing features of the natural order – they come to understand that we belong together. And it is there that our shared joy in each other begins.

Professor Roger Scruton was Professor of Aesthetics at Birkbeck College London and Professor of Philosophy at Boston University Massachusetts. He now describes himself as Grand Panjandrum of Horsell ’s Farm Enterprises – Britain’s fastest-growing postmodern rural consultancy. Services range f rom logic chopping to log cutting.