Míguez
18. Hemos de averiguar ahora si el cuerpo que vive gracias a la presencia del alma tiene realmente algo de particular, o lo que tiene es solamente la naturaleza, única cosa que mantendría relación con él. Digamos, por lo pronto, que si hay en un cuerpo un alma y una naturaleza, el cuerpo mismo no es ya como un cuerpo inanimado, ni se parece tampoco al aire resplandeciente, sino que es como el aire caldeado por el calor. El cuerpo del ser animado y el de la planta tienen en sí como una sombra del alma y, por sus mismas características, experimentan dolores y placeres, los cuales llegan hasta nosotros y son también conocidos por nosotros, sin que verdaderamente nos afecten.
Digo nosotros y entiendo por ello el resto del alma, al que el cuerpo no resulta extraño puesto que es parte de nosotros. Nos interesa precisamente por ser algo de nosotros mismos; porque, si este cuerpo no somos nosotros mismos, no por eso estamos liberados de él. El cuerpo está ligado a nosotros y depende de nosotros; nosotros somos en verdad la parte principal, pero el cuerpo es también algo que nos pertenece. De ahí que nos alcancen sus placeres y sus dolores y, cuanto más débiles seamos, tanto menos nos separaremos de él. Si postulamos que es la parte más noble de nosotros mismos, esto es, el hombre, nos hundiremos aún mucho más en él. No podemos decir, pues, que las emociones pertenezcan por completo al alma, pero tampoco al cuerpo o al compuesto de ambos. Si tomamos uno y otro separadamente, es claro que se bastan a sí mismos; así, el cuerpo a solas no experimenta emoción alguna, puesto que es algo inanimado. Y no es él quien se encuentra dividido, sino la unión que se da en él. El alma, por su parte, tampoco es susceptible de división y escapa, por consiguiente, a toda clase de emociones. Ahora bien, cuando ambos (cuerpo y alma) quieren ser una misma cosa, como algo que se recibe en préstamo, su unidad puede ser impedida, de donde resulta, verosímilmente, la vicisitud del dolor. Digo, sin embargo, que esto no ocurriría así, si las dos cosas fuesen dos cuerpos, porque ambos tendrían entonces la misma naturaleza. Pero, si se trata de dos naturalezas diferentes que quieren unirse la una a la otra, la naturaleza de orden inferior tendrá que recibir algo de la naturaleza de orden superior y, al no poder hacerlo, tomará de ésta tan sólo una huella, con lo cual ambas naturalezas seguirán siendo dos y la naturaleza inferior permanecerá intermedia entre lo que ya era y lo que no ha podido aprehender. Con ello se origina a sí misma una situación embarazosa, al compartir una alianza perecedera y nada sólida, siempre inclinada al extremo contrario. Esta naturaleza, oscilante de continuo de un lado a otro, unas veces se eleva y otras desciende, ofreciéndose entonces como presa del dolor; pero, si realmente se eleva, manifiesta vivamente su deseo de unirse a la naturaleza superior.
Bouillet
XVIII. Le corps acquiert-il, grâce à la présence de l’âme qui le fait vivre, quelque chose qui lui devienne propre, ou bien ce qu’il possède se réduit-il à la nature et est-ce là la seule chose qui se communique à lui (48)?
Évidemment, le corps qui jouit de la présence de l’âme et de celle de la nature ne doit pas ressembler à un cadavre ; il sera dans l’état de l’air, non quand l’air est pénétré par la lumière [car alors il n’en reçoit réellement rien], mais quand il participe de la chaleur (49). Aussi, le corps du végétal et celui de l’animal possèdent-ils dans la nature une ombre de l’âme (50). C’est au corps ainsi vivifié par la nature que se rapportent les souffrances et les plaisirs; mais c’est à nous qu’il appartient de connaître sans pâtir ces souffrances et ces plaisirs (51) ; à nous, c’est-à-dire à l’âme raisonnable (52), dont notre corps est distinct sans lui être cependant étranger puisqu’il est nôtre. C’est parce qu’il est nôtre que nous en prenons soin. Nous ne sommes pas le corps ; nous n’en sommes pourtant pas complètement séparés ; il nous est associé, il dépend de nous. Quand nous disons nous, nous désignons par ce mot ce qui constitue la partie principale de notre être ; le corps est notre également, mais c’est à un autre point de vue. Aussi ses souffrances, ses plaisirs ne nous sont-ils pas indifférents : plus nous sommes faibles, plus nous nous en occupons. Quant à la partie la plus précieuse de nous-mêmes, qui constitue essentiellement la personne, l’homme, elle est en quelque sorte plongée en lui.
Les passions n’appartiennent pas réellement à l’âme, mais au corps vivant, à la partie commune, au composé (53). Le corps et l’âme, pris chacun séparément, se suffisent à eux-mêmes. Isolé et inanimé, le corps ne pâtit pas (54). Ce n’est pas lui qui est dissous, c’est l’union de ses parties. Isolée, l’âme est impassible, indivisible, et par son état échappe à toute affection. Mais, quand deux choses s’unissent, l’unité qu’elles forment étant factice, il arrive souvent qu’elle est attaquée : de là résulte la douleur. Je dis deux choses, et par là je n’entends pas deux corps, parce que deux corps ont la même nature; je considère le cas où une essence veut s’allier à une autre essence d’un genre différent, où l’essence inférieure reçoit quelque chose de l’essence supérieure, mais, ne pouvant la recevoir tout entière, en reçoit seulement un vestige. Alors le tout comprend deux éléments et forme cependant une unité ; en devenant une chose intermédiaire entre ce qu’il était et ce qu’il n’a pu devenir, il se crée ainsi un grand embarras pour s’être formé une alliance malheureuse, peu solide, toujours tirée en sens divers par des influences contraires. Il est ainsi tantôt élevé, tantôt abaissé : quand il est abaissé, il manifeste sa souffrance; quand il est élevé, il aspire au commerce de l’âme avec le corps.
Guthrie
THE BODY IS NOT US, BUT OURS.
18. Does the body, thanks to the presence of the soul that vivifies it, possess something which becomes characteristically its own, or is its possession nothing more than its nature, and is this the only thing added to the body? Evidently, the body which enjoys the presence of the soul, and of nature, would not resemble a corpse. It will be in the condition of the air, not when the air is penetrated by the sun-light (for then it really receives nothing), but when it participates in the heat. Therefore, plant and animal bodies that possess “a nature,” find that it consists of the shadow of a soul. It is to this body, thus vivified by nature, that sufferings and pleasures relate; but it is for us to experience these sufferings and pleasures without ourselves suffering. By us is here meant the reasonable soul, from which the body is distinct, without however being foreign to it, since it is ours (since it belongs to us). Only because of this, that it is ours, do we care for it. We are not the body; but we are not entirely separated from it; it is associated with us, it depends on us. When we say “we,” we mean by this word what constitutes the principal part of our being; the body also is “ours”: but in another sense. Therefore its sufferings and pleasures are not indifferent to us; the weaker we are, the more we occupy ourselves with it. In it, so to speak, is plunged the most precious part of ourselves, which essentially constitutes the personality, the man.
THE SOUL AND BODY TOGETHER FORM A FUSION OF BOTH.
The passions do not really belong to the soul, but to the living body, which is the common part, or the fusion (of both, or the compound). The body and soul, each taken separately, are self-sufficient. Isolated and inanimate, the body does not suffer. It is not the body that is dissolved, it is the unification of its parts. Isolated, the soul is impassible, indivisible, and by her condition escapes all affections. But the unification of two things is sure to be more or less unstable, and on its occurrence, it often happens that it is tested; hence the pain. I say, “two things,” not indeed two bodies, because two bodies have the same nature; the present is a case where one kind of being is to be united to one of a different kind, where the inferior being receives something from the superior being, but receives only a trace of that something, because of its inability to receive her entirely. Then the whole comprises two elements, but neverthelss forms only a unity; which, becoming something intermediary between what it was, and what it has not been able to become, becomes seriously embarrassed, because it has formed an unfortunate alliance, not very solid, always drawn into opposite directions by contrary influences. Thus it is at one time elated, and at another, dejected; when it is dejected, it manifests its suffering; when it is elated, it aspires to communion between the body and the soul.
MacKenna
18. There remains the question whether the body possesses any force of its own – so that, with the incoming of the soul, it lives in some individuality – or whether all it has is this Nature we have been speaking of, the superior principle which enters into relations with it.
Certainly the body, container of soul and of nature, cannot even in itself be as a soulless form would be: it cannot even be like air traversed by light; it must be like air storing heat: the body holding animal or vegetive life must hold also some shadow of soul; and it is body thus modified that is the seat of corporeal pains and pleasures which appear before us, the true human being, in such a way as to produce knowledge without emotion. By “us, the true human being” I mean the higher soul for, in spite of all, the modified body is not alien but attached to our nature and is a concern to us for that reason: “attached,” for this is not ourselves nor yet are we free of it; it is an accessory and dependent of the human being; “we” means the master-principle; the conjoint, similarly is in its own way an “ours”; and it is because of this that we care for its pain and pleasure, in proportion as we are weak rather than strong, gripped rather than working towards detachment.
The other, the most honourable phase of our being, is what we think of as the true man and into this we are penetrating.
Pleasure and pain and the like must not be attributed to the soul alone, but to the modified body and to something intermediary between soul and body and made up of both. A unity is independent: thus body alone, a lifeless thing, can suffer no hurt – in its dissolution there is no damage to the body, but merely to its unity – and soul in similar isolation cannot even suffer dissolution, and by its very nature is immune from evil.
But when two distinct things become one in an artificial unity, there is a probable source of pain to them in the mere fact that they were inapt to partnership. This does not, of course, refer to two bodies; that is a question of one nature; and I am speaking of two natures. When one distinct nature seeks to associate itself with another, a different, order of being – the lower participating in the higher, but unable to take more than a faint trace of it – then the essential duality becomes also a unity, but a unity standing midway between what the lower was and what it cannot absorb, and therefore a troubled unity; the association is artificial and uncertain, inclining now to this side and now to that in ceaseless vacillation; and the total hovers between high and low, telling, downward bent, of misery but, directed to the above, of longing for unison.