Roundtable

Though the history of the bullfight is not easy to trace, its precursors are many. In the four thousand year-old Mesopotamian epic of Gilgamesh, the titular hero dispatched a celestial bull with the same technique as that of the modern day matador—a single stab wound at the base of the neck. In Greek myth, Theseus famously slew the Minotaur, a fearsome man-eating human-bull hybrid. Mithraism, a cult religion of the Roman Empire centered around a pre-Zoroastrian deity, held ritual sacrifices inspired by the god’s alleged killing of a divine bull. The earliest direct predecessor of bullfighting as we know it, a form of bull lancing performed from horseback, was first practiced during Moorish reign of the Iberian peninsula. The tradition outlasted the Moors, endured resistance from Queen Isabella and Pope Leo V, and by the early eighteenth century the principal bullfighter was acting on foot, soon adopting the methods and trappings associated with contemporary matadors.

In its current form, each round of the Spanish bullfight is a performance in three acts. First, the bull confronts two picadors on armored horses, who jab their spears into the ganglia at the axis of the animal’s shoulders. As the bull retaliates, aggravating the wounds, it impairs its mobility and thus the range and force of its lethal horns. Next, three banderilleros arrive on foot, each armed with two barbed spikes decorated with colorful paper ruffles that are driven into the same target. Finally, the matador enters. Using the classic red cape he lures the bull perilously close to his body, torquing its neck further still, while executing a balletic series of evasive movements. After this extensive exhibition, he draws the wounded and exhausted creature forward, and swiftly slips his sword into its withers at a slant. Optimally this is a coup de grâce, severing the aorta and inflicting immediate death. In a typical afternoon at the ring, this routine is performed a total of six times, with three matadors each participating twice.

At the handful of bullfights I have attended, the experience has been mixed. The longstanding mystique surrounding the beast, the pomp of the costumes and graceful athleticism, and the looming promise of bloodshed amount to a stirring atmosphere. Nonetheless, watching an abused animal slump to its death is a harrowing affair. This is the dilemma that faces the bullfight today, its distinct allure at odds with a blithe disregard for the life of the animal opponent.

The primary concern cited by supporters of the Catalonian ban was the inhumane treatment of animals. But it should be noted that the region—distinguished from the rest of Spain by its remote geography and unique native language—has long harbored separatist ambitions. Some identify this as an ulterior motive for doing away with a sport that has long characterized the country as a whole. This theory is corroborated by Spain’s recent decision to deny a Catalonian request for legally recognized nationhood. The ban, voted into law the month following this rejection, was seen by some as retaliatory.

Though Catalonia may have had its own reasons for prohibiting bullfighting, it is not the only force contributing to its decline. The number of bullfights in Spain has fallen by nearly a third in the past three years, largely due to economic turmoil—its government subsidies have been revoked as the country struggles to balance its budget. This, paired with shrinking interest from Spanish citizens, indicates that the sport is on the wane, regardless of the ban.

Scaling back will cost jobs and revenue in the short term, but could ultimately benefit a country that has been criticized for its reluctance to modernize. In the meantime, the spectacle remains accessible for dedicated aficionados and curious newcomers alike. The bullring remains one of the last places for a sporting audience to confront their mortality, but mankind has evolved to a degree that activities of this sort on such a large scale are no longer morally feasible. The old guard will surely dig in their heels as circumstances conspire to diminish their beloved pastime, but the tide looks poised to drag them out of the past.

Photo: David Molnia, via Flickr.