Poetic Justice: from the master to the analyst (and back again)

For two years Ulysses had been imagining and planning this intervention without a precise idea of how it would turn out. There were many moving parts, and he was not in a position of power. His power was that which comes from desire. He was engaged in a bricolage, making things up as he went along, but with his eye on the horizon to give him a direction, and within a framework that he tended to with a great deal of care. He needed other people to trust him and buy into his idea. He needed them to add their resources to support him. It would be especially handy if they would share the desire and make it theirs too. So: powered by the energy of the drive, tempered and directed by a decided desire, and not without some wiles. 

Nor without some risk. 

A small grant had been won with the help of an important player employed at a psychiatric hospital, and a promise had been made to deliver six sessions to provide “equine encounters” for about twenty-five patients over the summer. This name, “equine encounters,” had been specially chosen to smuggle in the psychoanalyst’s discourse without triggering the regulatory mechanisms endemic to modern British medicine. 

Luckily, Athena turned up and took two measured steps to create a scene that would let our Ulysses achieve his aim. 

She created a small, elegant space in the grounds and made everything look very simple. A length of 40mm poly-tape (electric fence tape) was stretched around six majestic trees clustered near a disused tennis court overlooked by the management block and the estates office.

Into this space two very beautiful horses were released. A stocky gelding cob named Trojan, and Mercy, a dapple-grey thoroughbred mare. 

The horses in the paddock made the whole space shimmer. They were at liberty to move around, each wearing only a loose head collar. They were free to graze the grass and nibble the leaves of the trees. They were free to move, kick up their heels, or roll on the ground. They were free to interact with the patients or simply stand and snooze. They were free. And yet contained. And contained by more than this lightweight tape stretched around the trees. They were also bound by the structure of a discourse. 

Ulysses, disguised as an old woman, was allowed to meet patients and staff in the company of the horses, and witnessed what Lacan had predicted: when the discourse changes, a little bit of love is released. The master’s discourse was turned over to reveal the analyst’s discourse on its other side. The social bond changed shape and the possibility of an encounter between horses and humans was created. 

Right up until the last ten minutes of the final session things could not have gone better. But then the master’s discourse reasserted itself. The effect it had was instructive. 

Ulysses relied on a crew to sit quietly and keep an eye on things while he got on with conducting the interactions in such a way that a spectator would imagine that nothing much was going on. At the end of the final session one of the crew, Eurylochus, couldn't resist the urge to leave his post and try his hand. While Ulysses was busy with the last couple of patients, Eurylochus put his plan into action. He wanted to help one of the patients to overcome her fear and step into the paddock with the horses. The patient herself thought it was a good idea, because she would be able to tell the staff on her ward that she had achieved her “exposure therapy.” Eurylochus walked up to Trojan and took firm hold of his head collar. He called out to the patient to screw up her courage and walk into the paddock with the horse. The patient covered her eyes with her hands and began muttering and shuffling forward one small step at a time. She entered the paddock. Trojan stood erect, as if at attention, locked in place next to Eurylochus. The master’s discourse had reasserted itself. The discursive structure had flipped back to its other side. 

It was done. The patient returned to her ward, the crew began tidying up, and the horses were given their lunch. Ulysses drifted down to the walled garden to purchase some produce. He was about sixty yards away, leaning on the wall, chatting and looking up the slope towards the horses while the paddock was being dismantled. 

Eurylochus clipped ropes to the horses’ head collars and held them as the fence line was dismantled. Then suddenly something happened. Trojan, who was grazing with his head down, had stepped forward onto his rope and trapped his head close to the ground. He tried to pull himself free with his own strength, not understanding that he needed to move his foot. He began to panic. Quick as a flash, Eurylochus realised he had no choice but to flip the head collar off Trojan’s head to stop things getting worse. The sudden release acted like a catapult and Trojan's head flew up. He spun around and cantered into the distance. This knocked Eurylochus to the ground and he fell flat on his face. 

The shock of the fall and the pain in his mouth loosened his grip on the second rope, and Mercy, finding herself free, took off in pursuit of her companion. Both horses swiftly cantered out of sight. 

The hospital managers were at their windows. An estate manager, wide-legged, hands on hips, was staring at the unfolding scene. Ulysses sprinted over to Eurylochus, helped him up, looked into his mouth, and saw that some teeth had been knocked loose. “It’s a perfect punctuation to the whole project,” he said quietly. “What?” Eurylochus replied. “It demonstrates what we have accomplished in the six weeks up until this point.” 

It took but a few minutes to restore order as the two horses let themselves be caught. Eurylochus pretended nothing was wrong. Soon the horses were loaded into the horsebox, the equipment was stashed away, and the place was returned to its usual appearance. Apparently, nothing had happened. 

When the discourse changes to the analyst’s discourse, a little bit of love is released; this idea was foundational to the project. When the discourse turns back into the that of the master something else is produced. Trojan more or less re-enacted the scene that had taken place not twenty minutes earlier. He demonstrated what can go wrong when force is used. It is not necessary that we believe he intended to do this, or that he knew what he was doing. The point is that he did it. The psychoanalytic concept of “acting out” is not out of place here. Rather than characterising what happened as an accident or a mistake, we can presume that something had in fact been unconsciously staged. It was a bungled act between horse and human, which means that it can be interpreted.