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PALGRAVE FRONTIERS IN PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION
Unamuno’s Religious
Fictionalism
Alberto Oya
Palgrave Frontiers in Philosophy of Religion
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Yujin Nagasawa
Department of Philosophy
University of Birmingham
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Department of Philosophy
DePauw University
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Alberto Oya
Unamuno’s Religious
Fictionalism
Alberto Oya
Philosophy
University of Girona
Girona, Spain
Palgrave Frontiers in Philosophy of Religion

ISBN 978-3-030-54689-2 ISBN 978-3-030-54690-8 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54690-8
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A mis abuelos, Carmen Heras y Miguel Márquez: In Memoriam
“Porque no es sólo que he venido muriéndome, es que se han ido muriendo,

se me han muerto los míos, los que me hacían y me soñaban mejor. Se me ha
ido el alma de la vida gota a gota, y alguna vez a chorro. ¡Pobres mentecatos
los que suponen que vivo torturado por mi propia inmortalidad individual!
¡Pobre gente! No, sino por la de todos los que he soñado y sueño, por la de
todos los que me sueñan y sueño. Que la inmortalidad, como el sueño, o es
comunal o no es.”
Miguel de UNAMUNO. “Historia de Niebla” (1935).

Contents
1 Introduction 1
2 Biographical Introduction 5
3 Unamuno on Spinoza’s Conatus: The “hambre de

inmortalidad”13
4 Reason and Experience Against Our Natural Longing for

an Endless Existence29
5 The Biblical Testimony About the Resurrection of Jesus

Christ and Our Longing for the Existence of the
Christian God37
6 The “sentimiento trágico de la vida”51
7 Love, Charity, and the Argument from Common Consent59
8 Unamuno’s Epistemological Paradigm69
vii
viii Contents
9 Unamuno’s Naturally Founded Religious Fictionalism77
10 Conclusion87
Index91
About the Author
Alberto Oya is a research fellow at the University of Girona, where he

obtained his PhD in Philosophy. His main research interests are in phi-
losophy of religion, with a particular focus on non-doxastic conceptions
of religious faith.
ix
1
Introduction
Abstract This introductory chapter outlines the structure of the essay

and the main themes discussed in each of its chapters. It is stated that the
ultimate aim of the essay, when taken as a whole, is to provide a coherent
and systematic analysis of Unamuno’s notion of religious faith and the
reasoning he offers in defense of it, while pointing out the philosophical
relevance his proposal still has today by connecting it with current non-
cognitivist conceptions of religious faith in general, and with contempo-
rary religious fictionalist positions more specifically.
Keywords Christianity • Immortality • Miguel de Unamuno • Non-

cognitivism • Religious faith • Religious fictionalism
Throughout all his writings, but in an especially systematic way in his Del
sentimiento trágico de la vida en los hombres y en los pueblos (Unamuno
1913b) [The Tragic Sense of Life in Men and Nations (Unamuno 1913a)],
Miguel de Unamuno (1864–1936) attempted to defend a non-cognitivist
Christian conception of religious faith by appealing to our (according to
Unamuno, natural) longing for an endless existence. Unamuno’s religious
© The Author(s) 2020 1

A. Oya, Unamuno’s Religious Fictionalism, Palgrave Frontiers in Philosophy of Religion,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54690-8_1
2 A. Oya
faith consists primarily in our conceiving the world as a sort of personal

conscious Being who suffers as we do and who asks for our love and com-
passion. In its turn, this religious understanding of the world determines
our way of acting, of relating to the world (i.e., the practice of charity).
And it is through our acting that we come to feel communed with the
whole world, as if there were a personal loving relationship between us
and the World, “de Dios a Dios” (“from God to God”), as it were
(Unamuno 1913a, p. 172 [Unamuno 1913b, p. 201]). The aim of this
essay is to provide a coherent and systematic analysis of Unamuno’s
notion of religious faith and the reasoning he offers in defense of it, while
pointing out some of the merits of his proposal, thus demonstrating why
the study of Unamuno’s work might still prove useful and illuminating
when discussing positions that are currently being defended and dis-
cussed by philosophers of religion.
Unamuno’s defense of religious faith starts with the claim that we all,
without exception, suffer from what he named as “hambre de inmortali-
dad” (“hunger for immortality”). By affirming this “hambre de inmortali-
dad”, Unamuno is not making the psychological, empirically contingent
claim that we, human beings, desire for an endless existence, but the
stronger, metaphysical claim that the most basic and natural inclination
(or appetite, if we are to use Spinoza’s jargon) of all singular things (i.e.,
not only human beings but also prima facie non sentient beings such as
plants and rocks) is to increase their own singularity—which is tanta-
mount, says Unamuno, to claiming that all singular things naturally and
primarily seek an endless existence. Following on from the biographical
introduction to Unamuno in Chap. 2, in which the most relevant events
in his life are pointed out and his most well-known philosophical and
literary works outlined, in Chap. 3 I will argue why we should read
Unamuno’s “hambre de inmortalidad” as referring to the metaphysical
claim that all singular things naturally and primarily seek an endless
existence.
The aim of Chaps. 4 and 5 is to analyze Unamuno’s argument for
claiming that as a consequence of this “hambre de inmortalidad”, we all
long for the existence of the Christian God and His Salvation. As I will
argue, Unamuno’s argument depends on accepting as an open metaphys-
ical possibility (but not as a truth, as describing a fact that actually
1 Introduction 3
occurred) the Biblical testimony about the Resurrection of Jesus Christ,

together with the claim that only the sort of endless existence involved in
Christian Resurrection would succeed in preserving our personal identity
after earthly death. With this, I will be pointing out one of the merits of
Unamuno’s proposal that makes it still philosophically and theologically
relevant today, which is his ability to formulate a non-cognitivist Christian
conception of religious faith while preserving the traditional understand-
ing about the divine nature of Jesus Christ and Christian Eschatology.
In Chap. 6, I will introduce Unamuno’s notion of the “sentimiento
trágico de la vida” (“tragic feeling of life”), by which he refers to the irre-
soluble struggle (“agonía”) we all, according to him, naturally and inti-
mately feel between, on the one hand, our longing for the Christian God
and His Salvation and, on the other, our incapacity to form the belief that
this God exists on an evidential, rational basis.
In Chap. 7, I will analyze Unamuno’s reasoning for claiming that we
are inevitably led to his notion of religious faith given our own anguished
natural condition, the “sentimiento trágico de la vida”. As we will see,
Unamuno’s reasoning here takes the form of an argument from common
consent: it is the anguish that the “sentimiento trágico de la vida” arouses
in us, together with our becoming aware that this anguish is naturally
present in all singular things (in so far as all singular things naturally and
primarily seek an endless existence), that moves us to Unamuno’s reli-
gious faith. Unamuno’s religious faith is, then, legitimated because of its
natural foundation, as something we are all led to given our own natural
condition. However, since this alleged universality of the “sentimiento
trágico de la vida”, and the anguish it brings with it, are grounded in the
natural constitution of all singular things and not in the truth of any
religious or theological statement, Unamuno’s religious faith cannot be
equated with religious belief: it neither requires nor implies accepting as
a truth the factual claim that the Christian God exists and that He is
going to Save us. The “sentimiento trágico de la vida” remains “trágico”,
irresoluble; and it is precisely as a consequence of our incapacity to solve
this struggle that we are lead to Unamuno’s religious faith—as Unamuno
put it: “Peace of mind, conciliation between reason and faith, all of
that—by the grace of a provident God—is no longer possible” (Unamuno
1913a, p. 354 [Unamuno 1913b, p. 300]).
4 A. Oya
In Chap. 8, I will argue that Unamuno’s notion of religious faith relies

on the epistemological claim that the relation between world and subject,
the direction of fit, goes from the subject to the world. It is this epistemo-
logical paradigm that enables us to make sense of the claim that despite
not being a description of how the world actually is, Unamuno’s religious
faith is still a religious understanding of the world.
Last, in Chap. 9, I will link Unamuno’s notion of religious faith with
recent contemporary fictionalist conceptions of religious faith. I will
point out some of the merits of his proposal, demonstrating why the
study of Unamuno’s work might still prove useful and illuminating when
discussing positions that are currently being defended and discussed by
philosophers of religions.
References
Unamuno, M. (1913a) 1972. The Tragic Sense of Life in Men and Nations. In
The Selected Works of Miguel de Unamuno (vol. 4), ed. and trans. Anthony
Kerrigan, 3–358. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
———. (1913b) 1966. Del sentimiento trágico de la vida en los hombres y en
los pueblos. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras completas (vol. VII: ‘Meditaciones y
ensayos espirituales’), ed. Manuel García Blanco, 109–302. Madrid: Escelicer.
2
Biographical Introduction
Abstract A biographical introduction to Miguel de Unamuno

(1864–1936) is given. The most relevant events in Unamuno’s life are
pointed out and his most well-known philosophical and literary works
are briefly outlined.
Keywords Biography • Life and works • Miguel de Unamuno
Miguel de Unamuno y Jugo (known as Miguel de Unamuno) was born

on 29 September 1864 in Bilbao, in the Spanish region of the Basque
Country, and died on 31 December 1936 in Salamanca, in the Spanish
region of Castile. Unamuno succeeded in constructing an original philo-
sophical position of his own, moving away from the mainstream philo-
sophical movements of the Spain of his time, such as Catholic
Scholasticism, while paying heed to thinkers who were then hardly
known in Spain, such as Soren Kierkegaard (1813–1855) and William
James (1842–1910). Unamuno’s literary writing style, polemical without
thereby losing vividness and existential profundity, has made both his
philosophical and his literary writings widely read and valued as much in

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6 A. Oya
Spain as beyond its borders. Despite the fact that, strictly speaking,
Unamuno did not form a school of thought, he is often considered as the
best known Spanish writer and philosopher of the twentieth century and
his writings have deeply impacted and influenced many Spanish writers
and philosophers, such as Antonio Machado (1875–1939) and José
Ortega y Gasset (1883–1955).
At the age of sixteen, Unamuno moved from Bilbao to Madrid to pur-
sue his university education, obtaining his PhD in 1884 with a disserta-
tion on the origins of the Basque people entitled Crítica del problema
sobre el origen y prehistoria de la raza vasca (Unamuno 1884) [Critique of
the Problem of the Origin and Prehistory of the Basque Race]. He then
returned to his hometown of Bilbao, remaining there until 1891 when he
took up a Chair in Ancient Greek at the University of Salamanca, in the
Spanish region of Castile. In 1897, Unamuno published his first novel,
Paz en la guerra (Unamuno 1897b) [Peace at War (Unamuno 1897a)],
which despite not being explicitly based on a real story aims to capture
the life of the Bilbao of Unamuno’s childhood, which was one of the
main scenes of the Third Carlist Spanish Civil War (1872–1876).
From 1896, Unamuno’s philosophical reflections became almost
exclusively driven by the question of the nature and justification of reli-
gious faith. Some of the writings that best illustrate his turning to reli-
gious reflection are his short story Nicodemo el Fariseo (Unamuno 1899b)
[Nicodemus the Pharisee (Unamuno 1899a)], papers such as “¡Pistis y no
gnosis!” (Unamuno 1897c) [“Pistis and not Gnosis!”] and “Fe” (Unamuno
1900b) [“Faith” (Unamuno 1900a)], and his personal diaries published
posthumously in 1966 under the title Diario íntimo (Unamuno 1966)
[Intimate diary].1 These writings already contained the most peculiar and
defining aspect of Unamuno’s later philosophical production, his defense
of a non-cognitivist understanding of Christian religious faith—albeit in
embryonic form and without making explicit reference to his later thesis
on the “sentimiento trágico de la vida” (“the tragic feeling of life”) and the
“hambre de inmortalidad” (“hunger for immortality”). This religious turn
in Unamuno might be explained by the birth of his third son in 1896,
Raimundo Jenaro, who suffered from a congenital neurological disease
1
An English translation of selected excerpts from Diario íntimo can be found in Unamuno (1984).
(most probably congenital hydrocephalus) which impeded his intellec-

tual and motor development and caused his early death in 1902.
In 1900, Unamuno was appointed Rector of the University of
Salamanca for the first time, a position he held on this occasion until his
dismissal in 1924, ordered by the Spanish dictator Miguel Primo de
Rivera. These years were the most fructiferous in Unamuno’s writing pro-
duction, not only in philosophical terms but also regarding his literary
and poetic works. His philosophical reflections, which had begun to take
form in 1896, resulted in the 1913 publication of Del sentimiento trágico
de la vida en los hombres y en los pueblos (Unamuno 1913b) [The Tragic
Sense of Life in Men and Nations (Unamuno 1913a)], which can be con-
sidered as his major philosophical work. In it Unamuno defended his
non-cognitivist Christian conception of religious faith as it being our
inevitable reaction to our own natural anguished condition, which he
named as the “sentimiento trágico de la vida”, and which in turn is the
result of what, according to Unamuno, is our most basic and natural
inclination, that of seeking an endless existence, which he named as
“hambre de inmortalidad”. During these years Unamuno also published
some of his now most well-known novels, such as Amor y Pedagogía
(Unamuno 1902b) [Love and Pedagogy (Unamuno 1902a)], a satire of
modern positivism, Niebla (Unamuno 1914b) [Mist (Unamuno 1914a)],
which as I will point out in Chap. 9 attempts to somehow blur the dis-
tinction between fiction and reality, and Abel Sánchez (Unamuno 1917b)
[Abel Sánchez (Unamuno 1917a)], a novelistic reinterpretation in con-
temporary terms of the Biblical story of Cain and Abel. In 1920,
Unamuno published El Cristo de Velázquez (Unamuno 1920b) [The
Velázquez Christ (Unamuno 1920a)], a long and devotional poem
inspired by Diego Veláquez’s painting representing the agony of Christ
on the Cross.
Due to his numerous newspaper articles commenting on, and very
often criticizing, the turbulent political situation in the Spain of the time,
Unamuno gained considerable recognition and influence over Spanish
public opinion. In 1924, following the publication of his articles overtly
criticizing the dictator Miguel Primo de Rivera, who had assumed the
position of Prime Minister of Spain after the military coup d’état of 13
September 1923, and the Spanish monarch Alfonso XIII, who supported
8 A. Oya
the dictatorship, Unamuno was removed from his position as Rector of

the University of Salamanca and forced into exile until 1930, first in
Fuerteventura (Canary Islands), later in Paris, and finally in Hendaye, a
French town bordering the Basque Country. While in exile, Unamuno
wrote La agonía del cristianismo (Unamuno 1924b) [The Agony of
Christianity (Unamuno 1924a)], a philosophical essay whose main aim
was to show that the non-cognitivist Christian conception of religious
faith he had already defended in his Del sentimiento trágico de la vida en
los hombres y en los pueblos was not merely a proposal for a new under-
standing of Christianity, but in fact amounted to the original conception
of religious faith defended by the Early Christians and Jesus Christ.
During his exile, he also wrote Cómo se hace una novela (Unamuno
1927b) [How to Make a Novel (Unamuno 1927a)], and two collections of
poems, De Fuerteventura a París (Unamuno 1924c) [From Fuerteventura
to Paris] and Romancero del destierro (Unamuno 1927c) [Ballads of Exile].
In January 1930, after the fall of Miguel Primo de Rivera’s dictator-
ship, Unamuno returned to Salamanca, where he was publicly acclaimed
and reinstated in his position as Rector. In this same year, Unamuno
published one of his most well-known novels, and probably the literary
work that best illustrates his conception of religious faith, San Manuel
Bueno, mártir (Unamuno 1930b) [Saint Manuel Bueno, Martyr (Unamuno
1930a)]. In it Unamuno tells the (fictional) story of a Spanish Catholic
priest who, because of his incapacity to form the belief that the Christian
God exists despite his inalienable wanting Him to exist (i.e., his suffering
from the “sentimiento trágico de la vida”), is moved to lovingly care for his
people, for which he is sanctified after his death.
Popular support for the monarch Alfonso XIII had declined as a result
of his explicit support of Miguel Primo de Rivera’s dictatorship and, fol-
lowing the republican parties’ sweeping victory in the urban areas in the
Spanish municipal election of 12 April 1931, the Spanish monarch was
forced to abdicate and the Second Spanish Republic was proclaimed.
Despite Unamuno’s initial support of the new Republic (he was elected
member of the Spanish republican Parliament for the province of
Salamanca, a position he held from 12 July 1931 to 9 October 1933), the
violent persecutions and anticlericalism of the Republic’s anarchist and
socialist factions moved Unamuno to publicly support the military coup
d’état of 18 July 1936, which marked the beginning of the Spanish Civil
War (1936–1939). Unamuno was consequently reprimanded by the
republican government and removed from his honorary position as “rec-
tor perpetuo” (“Perpetual Rector”) of the University of Salamanca, a posi-
tion conferred by the Spanish republican government after his retirement
in 1934. However, Unamuno soon become disenchanted with the insur-
gent movement given the repressive and fascist turn it soon took, distanc-
ing himself from it and subsequently placed under house arrest by the
military directory on October 1936. Unamuno died shortly afterwards in
Salamanca, on 31 December 1936.
References
Unamuno, M. (1884) 1968. Crítica del problema sobre el origen y prehistoria
de la raza vasca. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras completas (vol. IV: ‘La raza y la
lengua’), ed. Manuel García Blanco, 87–119. Madrid: Escelicer.
———. (1897a) 1983. Peace in War. In The Selected Works of Miguel de Unamuno
(vol. 1), ed. and trans. Anthony Kerrigan, 3–413. Princeton: Princeton
University Press.
———. (1897b) 1967. Paz en la guerra. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras completas
(vol. II: ‘Novelas’), ed. Manuel García Blanco, 87–301. Madrid: Escelicer.
———. (1897c) 1968. ¡Pistis y no Gnosis!. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras com-
pletas (vol. III: ‘Nuevos ensayos’), ed. Manuel García Blanco, 681–685. Madrid:
Escelicer.
———. (1899a) 1974. Nicodemus the Pharisee. In The Selected Works of Miguel
de Unamuno (vol. 5), ed. and trans. Anthony Kerrigan, 113–147. Princeton:
Princeton University Press.
———. (1899b) 1966. Nicodemo el fariseo. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras com-
pletas (vol. VII: ‘Meditaciones y ensayos espirituales’), ed. Manuel García Blanco,
365–385. Madrid: Escelicer.
———. (1900a) 1974. Faith. In The Selected Works of Miguel de Unamuno (vol.
5), ed. and trans. Anthony Kerrigan, 148–164. Princeton: Princeton
University Press.
———. (1900b) 1966. La fe. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras completas (vol. I:
‘Paisajes y ensayos’), ed. Manuel García Blanco, 962–970. Madrid: Escelicer.
10 A. Oya
———. (1902a) 1996. Love and Pedagogy. Trans. M. Vande Berg. Bern: Peter
Lang International Academic Publishers.
———. (1902b) 1967. Amor y pedagogía. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras com-
pletas (vol. II: ‘Novelas’), ed. Manuel García Blanco, 303–430. Madrid:
Escelicer.
———. (1913a) 1972. The Tragic Sense of Life in Men and Nations. In The
Selected Works of Miguel de Unamuno (vol. 4), ed. and trans. Anthony
Kerrigan, 3–358. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
———. (1913b) 1966. Del sentimiento trágico de la vida en los hombres y en
los pueblos. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras completas (vol. VII: ‘Meditaciones y
ensayos espirituales’), ed. Manuel García Blanco, 109–302. Madrid: Escelicer.
———. (1914a) 1976. Mist. In The Selected Works of Miguel de Unamuno (vol.
6), ed. and trans. Anthony Kerrigan, 3–246. Princeton: Princeton
University Press.
———. (1914b) 1967. Niebla. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras completas (vol. II:
‘Novelas’), ed. Manuel García Blanco, 541–682. Madrid: Escelicer.
———. (1917a) 1976. Abel Sánchez. In The Selected Works of Miguel de
Unamuno (vol. 6), ed. and trans. Anthony Kerrigan, 247–378. Princeton:
———. (1917b) 1967. Abel Sánchez. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras completas
(vol. II: ‘Novelas’), ed. Manuel García Blanco, 683–759. Madrid: Escelicer.
———. (1920a) 2002. The Velazquez Christ: Poem. Trans. W. Thomas Little.
Lanham: University Press of America.
———. (1920b) 1966. El Cristo de Velázquez. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras
completas (vol. VI: ‘Poesía’), ed. Manuel García Blanco, 415–493. Madrid:
Escelicer.
———. (1924a) 1974. The Agony of Christianity. In The Selected Works of
Miguel de Unamuno (vol. 5), ed. and trans. Anthony Kerrigan, 1–109.
Princeton: Princeton University Press.
———. (1924b) 1966. La agonía del cristianismo. In Miguel de Unamuno:
obras completas (vol. VII: ‘Meditaciones y ensayos espirituales’), ed. Manuel
García Blanco, 303–364. Madrid: Escelicer.
———. (1924c) 1966. De Fuerteventura a París. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras
Escelicer.
———. (1927a) 1976. How to Make a Novel. In The Selected Works of Miguel
de Unamuno (vol. 6), ed. and trans. Anthony Kerrigan, 379–481. Princeton:
———. (1927b) 1966. Cómo se hace una novela. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras
completas (vol. VIII: ‘Autobiografía y recuerdos personales’), ed. Manuel García
Blanco, 707–769. Madrid: Escelicer.
———. (1927c) 1966. Romancero del destierro. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras
Escelicer.
———. (1930a) 1976. Saint Manuel Bueno, martyr. In The Selected Works of
Miguel de Unamuno (vol. 7), ed. and trans. Anthony Kerrigan, 135–180.
Princeton: Princeton University Press.
———. (1930b) 1967. San Manuel Bueno, mártir. In Miguel de Unamuno:
obras completas (vol. II: ‘Novelas’), ed. Manuel García Blanco, 1127–1154.
Madrid: Escelicer.
———. (1966). Diario íntimo. In Miguel de Unamuno: obras completas (vol.
VIII: ‘Autobiografía y recuerdos personales’), ed. Manuel García Blanco,
771–880. Madrid: Escelicer.
———. (1984). The Diary (Abridged). In The Selected Works of Miguel de
Unamuno (vol. 2), ed. and trans. Anthony Kerrigan, 1–82. Princeton:
3
Unamuno on Spinoza’s Conatus:
The “hambre de inmortalidad”
Abstract Unamuno’s defense of religious faith starts with the claim that
we all, without exception, suffer from what he named as “hambre de
inmortalidad” (“hunger for immortality”). The aim of this chapter is to
show that by affirming this “hambre de inmortalidad”, Unamuno is not
making the psychological, empirically contingent claim that we, human
beings, desire for an endless existence, but the stronger, metaphysical
claim that the most basic and natural inclination (or appetite, if we are to
use Spinoza’s jargon) of all singular things (i.e., not only human beings
but also prima facie non sentient beings such as plants and rocks) is to
increase their own singularity—which is tantamount, says Unamuno, to
claiming that all singular things naturally and primarily seek an endless
existence.
Keywords Conatus • Death • Immortality • Miguel de Unamuno

• Spinoza
Among the large number of writings Unamuno left behind (the edition
of his complete works by Manuel García Blanco in the 1960’s forms a

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14 A. Oya
collection of nine volumes with more than a thousand pages in each) we

find not only what, strictly speaking, we might consider as philosophical
essays, but also poems, plays and novels. Unamuno was also known dur-
ing his lifetime for his critical newspaper articles on the turbulent politi-
cal situation in Spain at that time—and here we must remember that due
to his explicit, public denial of the legitimacy and authority of the dicta-
tor Miguel Primo de Rivera (and his denial, too, of the monarch Alfonso
XIII who supported that dictatorship), he was forced into exile in France
between 1924 and 1930.
Leaving aside these political newspaper articles, something we must
bear in mind when reading Unamuno is that, despite the variety of the
genres he used, all his writings in some way or other reflect his philo-
sophical views and his attempt to construe a defence of religious faith on
non-evidential grounds by appealing to our (alleged) longing for an end-
less existence. This sort of monothematic obsession, recognized by
Unamuno himself (cf., e.g., Unamuno 1933, p. 1123), is nothing more
than a consequence, and a reflection, of Unamuno’s own philosophical
position, the starting point of which is the acceptance of the metaphysical
claim that all singular things seek an increase of their own singularity, and
that this seeking is their most basic and natural inclination—which
implies, among other things, that everything we do is somehow moti-
vated, in the end, by this basic inclination. Unamuno referred to this
natural inclination as the “hambre de inmortalidad” (“hunger for immor-
tality”) given that it is tantamount, says Unamuno, to seeking an endless
existence, the longing to become everything while continuing to be the
same individuals of “carne y hueso” (“flesh and bone”) as we are here and
now. Hence, Unamuno’s obsession throughout his writings with the
question of immortality and the existence of the Christian God being not
pathological, but natural.
Despite the foundational role that the “hambre de inmortalidad” plays
in Unamuno’s reasoning, scholars seem to have either overlooked its
nature and misread it as referring to the psychological, empirically con-
tingent claim that we, human beings, have the desire for an endless exis-
tence (cf., e.g., Evans 2014, pp. 44–64) or, when it is recognized as not
referring to a human desire but to a sort of natural tendency, they have
not succeeded in offering a coherent, systematic formulation of it that
3 Unamuno on Spinoza’s Conatus: The “hambre de… 15
captures its philosophical relevance in Unamuno’s reasoning (cf., e.g.,

Ferrater Mora 2000, pp. 47–61). The aim of this section is to argue why
we should read Unamuno’s “hambre de inmortalidad” not in terms of
desire but as referring to the metaphysical claim that all singular things
(i.e., not only us, human beings) naturally and primarily seek an endless
existence.
Unamuno’s explicit endorsement of Spinoza’s argument for the conatus
at the very beginning of his Del sentimiento trágico de la vida en los hom-
bres y en los pueblos (Unamuno 1913b) [The Tragic Sense of Life in Men
and Nations (Unamuno 1913a)] makes it evident that he is not treating
this “hambre de inmortalidad” as referring to a desire for an endless exis-
tence that we, human beings, have but rather to a sort of primary natural
tendency (i.e., an appetite in Spinoza’s jargon) to seek an endless exis-
tence, which all singular things essentially have. And by singular things
Unamuno is referring to human beings as well as other conscious animals
and prima facie non-sentient beings such as plants and rocks. Despite its
length, I think reproducing the following quote here will help us to clar-
ify Unamuno’s position:
I would choose neither “the human” nor “humanity”, neither the simple
adjective nor the substantivized adjective, but the concrete substantive:
man, the man of flesh and blood, the man who is born, suffers, and dies—
above all, who dies; the man who eats and drinks and plays and sleeps and
thinks and loves; the man who is seen and heard; one’s brother, the real
brother. […] And this specific man, this flesh-and-blood man is both the
subject and supreme object of all philosophy, whether certain self-styled
philosophers like it or not. […] And to be a man is to be something con-
crete, unitary and substantive: it is to be a thing, res. Now, we know what
another man, the man Benedict Spinoza, the Portuguese Jew who was born
and lived in Holland in the middle of the seventeenth century, wrote about
the nature of things. The sixth proposition of Part III of his Ethics states:
unaquaeque res, quatenus in se est, in suo esse perseverare conatur: that is,
everything, in so far as it is in itself, strives to persevere in its own being.
Everything as it is in itself: that is, in so far as it is substance, for according
to him substance is id quod in se est et per se concipitur, that which is in itself
and is conceived by itself. And in the next proposition, the seventh, in the
same part, he adds: conatus, quo unaquaeque res in suo esse perseverare
16 A. Oya
conatur, nihil est praeter ipsius rei actualem essentiam, that is, the effort
which everything strives to persevere in its own being is nothing but the
actual essence of the thing itself. This means that your essence, reader, and
mine, and that of the man Spinoza, and that of the man Butler, and of the
man Kant, and of every man who is a man, is nothing but the endeavor, the
effort, which he makes to continue to be a man, not to die. And the propo-
sition that follows these two, the eight, states: conatus, quo unaquaeque res
in suo esse perseverare conatur, nullum tempus finitum, sed indefinitum invol-
vit, that is: the effort with which everything strives to persevere in its own
being does not involve finite time, but indefinite time. That is to say: you,
I, and Spinoza wish never to die, and this longing of ours never to die is our
present essence. (Unamuno 1913a, pp. 3–10 [Unamuno 1913b,
pp. 109–113])
However, and while accepting Spinoza’s argument for the conatus,

Unamuno does not endorse Spinoza’s cosmological views and he explic-
itly rejects Spinoza’s ideal of the “free man” and the claim that “a free man
thinks of nothing less than of death, and his wisdom is a meditation on
life, not on death” (Spinoza 1677, p. 584) (cf., Unamuno 1913a,
pp. 108–111 [Unamuno 1913b, pp. 167–168]). Immediately after the
quote reproduced above, Unamuno goes on to claim that:
Nevertheless, this poor Portuguese Jew, exiled in the mists of Holland,

could never succeed in believing in his own personal immortality, and all
his philosophy was but a consolation invented to make up for lack of faith.
Just as other men have a pain in their hand or foot, a heartache or a head-
ache, so had Spinoza a God-ache. Unhappy man! Unhappy men, the rest
of us! (Unamuno 1913a, p. 10 [Unamuno 1913b, p. 113])
Unfortunately, most scholars seem to have failed to notice the philo-

sophical implications of Unamuno’s claims here. An interesting exception
can be found in the analysis offered by Michael Candelaria (Candelaria
2012). In his analysis, Candelaria correctly identifies that Unamuno, in
relying on Spinoza’s argument for the conatus when claiming the univer-
sality of this “hambre de inmortalidad”, is making the metaphysical claim
that our most basic and natural inclination is to seek an endless existence.
However, Candelaria fails to identify the ultimate consequence of that
claim, which is that Unamuno’s religious faith becomes founded in our

own natural condition and so legitimated as something we are naturally
(and so, inevitably) impelled to, and misreads Unamuno in pragmatist
terms, as if Unamuno’s religious faith were something we should volun-
tarily embrace after realizing its practical adequacy.
Although commonly overlooked, it is true that the connection with
Spinoza has not gone completely unnoticed. Thus, there have been some
(but very few) attempts to study the influence of Spinoza’s thought in
Unamuno’s reasoning (cf., Álvaro Gómez 1997; Madanes 1992; Moreau
1982; Serrano Ramírez 1994, pp. 150–162). The conclusion of all these
studies is that Unamuno, in one way or another, simply misunderstood
Spinoza and that he was incapable of comprehending the foundational
role of the conatus in Spinoza’s philosophical system. In some cases, as in
Álvaro Gómez’s study, this conclusion is mixed with arbitrary specula-
tions such as that Unamuno’s alleged misreading of Spinoza’s argument
for the conatus was due to a memory failure (Álvaro Gómez 1997, p. 15).
It is easy to see that these sorts of analyses fail to do justice to the seri-
ousness of Unamuno’s position and even constitute an unfair reading of
his own personal philosophical capacities. Unamuno was, of course, well
aware of Spinoza’s philosophical system and the foundational role that
the doctrine of the conatus plays in it. Unamuno was not misunderstand-
ing Spinoza but was criticizing his proposal. Unamuno’s point is that
from Spinoza’s argument for the conatus as stated in the third part of the
Ethics (cf., Spinoza 1677, pp. 498–500), it does not simply follow the
claim that all singular things strive for their own self-preservation—i.e.,
that “Each thing, as far as it can by its own power, strives to persevere in
its being” (Spinoza 1677, p. 498). Rather, according to Unamuno, what
does actually follow is the “hambre de inmortalidad”, the claim that all
singular things naturally and primarily aim at the increase of their own
singularity without losing that which defines them as the individuals of
“carne y hueso” they are—which according to Unamuno implies, as I have
already said, that all singular things naturally seek for an endless exis-
tence. And once this “hambre de inmortalidad” is accepted, Unamuno
argues, Spinoza’s philosophical system loses its foundational keystone and
Spinoza’s pantheism and his ideal of the “free man” becomes untenable.
In short, what demonstrates Spinoza’s argument for the conatus is not the
18 A. Oya
conatus but Unamuno’s claim that we all suffer from an “hambre de inmor-
talidad”, and what emerges from it is not Spinoza’s pantheism but
Unamuno’s notion of religious faith. Unamuno makes this point clear
when he says that:
The essence of a being is not only the endeavor to persist forever, as Spinoza
taught us, but also the endeavor to become universal; it is a hunger and
thirst for eternity and for infinity. Every created being tends not only to
preserve itself in itself, but to perpetuate itself, and moreover, to encroach
upon all else, to be all others without ceasing to be itself, to extend its limits
to infinity, but yet without breaking them down. It does not wish to demol-
ish its walls, and thus lay everything flat, communal, defenseless, con-
founding and losing its own identity, but wishes to push its walls to the
extreme limits of creation and to encompass everything within them. It
seeks the maximum of individuality with the maximum also of personality;
it aspires to identify itself with the Universe, it aspires to God. (Unamuno
1913a, pp. 227–228 [Unamuno 1913b, pp. 232])
Leaving aside Unamuno’s explicit endorsement of Spinoza’s argument

for the conatus, there are other aspects that evidence that Unamuno is not
treating this “hambre de inmortalidad” as referring to a mere psychologi-
cal human desire.
At the very beginning of his Del sentimiento trágico de la vida en los
hombres y en los pueblos, Unamuno wastes no time in stating that the
question of whether we are going to enjoy an endless existence or not is
“[…] the only real and vital problem, the problem which strikes closest
at the root of our being […]” (Unamuno 1913a, p. 6 [Unamuno 1913b,
p. 111]). This would be an exaggerated claim if Unamuno were simply
assuming that we all desire an endless existence: after all, we are also con-
cerned with other desires of ours that, we might say, have nothing to do
with our desire to enjoy an endless existence. But Unamuno’s claim is not
off the point once we realize that he is already assuming that our most
basic and natural inclination is to seek an endless existence. A direct con-
sequence of affirming a foundational natural inclination is that all our
motivations are, in the end, somehow reduced to satisfying that inclina-
tion. This means, in the case of Unamuno, that all our motivations are
reduced, in one way or another, to our enjoying an endless existence. So,

according to Unamuno, and contrary to what we intuitively might think,
there is no desire in us that, explicitly or implicitly, is not directed towards
facilitating our attainment of an endless existence. This is why the ques-
tion of our own immortality is “[…] the only real and vital problem […]”.
That all our motivations are in the end grounded in this “hambre de
inmortalidad” is what is behind Unamuno’s claims such as that we should
“[…] think vitally and not logically” (Unamuno 1900, p. 959)1 and that
“[…] men, believing they seek the truth for its own sake, in fact seek life
in truth” (Unamuno 1913a, p. 27 [Unamuno 1913b, p. 123]). Everything
we do is explicitly or implicitly motivated by this natural inclination, and
this also includes the processes by which we come to form our beliefs. To
claim that our processes of belief-formation are motivated by non-
epistemic reasons, however, does not make Unamuno a pragmatist phi-
losopher in any relevant sense of the term, since he still maintains that
our beliefs are justified by epistemic, purely evidential reasons. Throughout
all his reasoning Unamuno maintains a strong evidentialist position
regarding epistemic justification: thus, as we will see later, it is Unamuno’s
evidentialism that leads him to claim the impossibility of escaping from
the anguish of the “sentimiento trágico de la vida” by forming the belief
that the Christian God exists and that He will Save us through an irratio-
nal, non-evidentially justified leap of faith.
Furthermore, if Unamuno were simply referring to a desire in us, his
discredit of the testimony of those who claim that they do not long for an
endless existence would be something clearly ad hoc. But the reason given
by Unamuno when rejecting the testimony of these kind of people is that
they are “hipócritas” (“hypocrites”) (Unamuno 1913a, p. 21 [Unamuno
1913b, p. 119]). They are hypocrites because their denial of their having
this longing for an endless existence is nothing more than an attempt at
self-deception by pretending to silence the essential part of their own
natural condition—an unsuccessful attempt since, being essential, it can-
not be silenced. It is in this sense that Unamuno claims that:
1
My translation. The Spanish text reads: “[…] pensar vital y no lógicamente” (Unamuno
1900: 959).
20 A. Oya
For men make philosophy precisely to convince themselves of what they

say, though they do not succeed. And this desire to convince oneself, that
is, to do violence to one’s own human nature, is often the true point of depar-
ture for not a few philosophies. (Unamuno 1913a, pp. 36–37, emphasis
added [Unamuno 1913b, pp. 128])
If we were to hypothetically concede that they are not, consciously or

unconsciously, aiming to deceive themselves but that they actually lack
that longing for an endless existence, then we should conclude that these
people are something antinatural, “anormales” (“abnormal”) (cf.,
Unamuno 1913a, p. 346 [Unamuno 1913b, p. 296]) or “una extraña
aberración”) (“an exotic aberration”) (Unamuno 1913a, p. 101 [Unamuno
1913b, p. 169]).
Moreover, it is treating this “hambre de inmortalidad” as our most basic
and natural inclination that leads Unamuno to consider that the question
of our own immortality (which, as I will explain in Chap. 5, according to
Unamuno’s schema is tantamount to the question of the existence of the
Christian God since only if this God were to exist would that longing for
an endless existence be satisfied) is not akin to an intellectual worry, a
question we are interested in answering so as to reach a better compre-
hension of how the world actually is, but is something that emerges from
inside us, something that “[…] poses itself as a problem the way hunger
poses itself as a problem” (Unamuno 1913a, p. 123 [Unamuno 1913b,
p. 175]).
Another reason that makes it evident that Unamuno is making the
metaphysical reading of the “hambre de inmortalidad” is his constant
emphasis on the idea that it is impossible for us to suspend our judgment
over the question of whether we are going to enjoy of an endless existence
or not—nor over the existence of the Christian God and His Salvation,
since according to Unamuno they are one and the same question. And we
cannot suspend our judgment, resign ourselves to doubt, even when we
realize that this would be the most reasonable reaction on our part, in so
far as it is a question that cannot be answered on an evidential, rational
basis. Unamuno vividly expresses this point when he says that:
The problem is tragic and eternal, and the more we try to escape it, the
more it is thrust upon us. The serene Plato—was he really so serene?—
allowed a profound cry to escape from his own soul, twenty-four centuries
ago, in his dialogue on the immortality of the soul, where he speaks of the
uncertainty of our dream of being immortal, and of the risk that it may be
vain […]. Faced with this risk, I am presented with arguments calculated
to eliminate it, arguments to prove the absurdity of a belief in the immor-
tality of the soul. But these ratiocinations do not move me, for they are
reasons and no more than reasons, and one does not feed the heart with
reasons. I do not want to die. No! I do not want to die, and I do not want
to want to die. I want to live always, forever and ever. And I want to live,
this poor I which I am, the I which I feel myself to be here and now, and
for that reason I am tormented by the problem of the duration of my soul,
of my own soul. (Unamuno 1913a, pp. 50–51 [Unamuno 1913b,
pp. 135–136]).
This impossibility of resigning ourselves to uncertainty regarding the

possibility of our enjoying an endless existence is also a consequence of
treating this “hambre de inmortalidad” as referring to that most basic and
natural inclination to seek an endless existence. Maintaining this position
would be more problematic if Unamuno were making the claim that we
desire an endless existence. Even conceding that we cannot decide on our
own desires and so we are unable to stop desiring an endless existence,
this would not imply that we cannot wait until its verification occurs and
meanwhile adopt a, let’s say, stoical attitude—i.e., wait until earthly death
occurs and see what happens then. But we cannot adopt this sort of
patient, stoical attitude because this “hambre de inmortalidad”, this seek-
ing an endless existence, is a constitutive part of us, the essential part of
our own nature that we cannot silence. No matter what, we cannot stop
actively seeking an endless existence. Notice that this is one of the crucial
steps in Unamuno’s defense of religious faith: if we were able to respond
to the uncertainty referred to in the “sentimiento trágico de la vida” by
patiently resigning ourselves to doubt until earthly death occurs, then
that uncertainty would not awaken any anguish in us and, without that
anguish, Unamuno’s religious faith would not emerge.
As I pointed out in the introduction and I will analyze in detail later,
our going from the “sentimiento trágico de la vida” to Unamuno’s religious
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Although it is impossible to raise ice even one degree above 32°
without thawing, it is not difficult to reduce water many degrees
below that point without freezing it.
In order to obtain both the constituents of water in a separate state, it
must be decomposed by galvanism, each pole of a battery
terminating in a separate tube containing water, when the result will
be that at the positive pole oxygen gas will be evolved, and hydrogen
at the negative, the latter being double the quantity of the former.
Now, if you mix the gases thus obtained, introduce them into a
vessel called a “Eudiometer,” and pass an electric spark through
them from a Leyden vial, a sudden flash will be seen, and the gases
will entirely disappear, being again converted into water. If you have
a mercurial trough, and perform this experiment over mercury, the
inside of the eudiometer will exhibit minute drops of water. Thus you
have proved both by analysis and synthesis, that water consists of
oxygen and hydrogen, in the proportion of one volume of the former
to two of the latter.
Experiment.
Take some perfectly pure distilled water, filter it, surround it with a
mixture of light snow, or powdered ice, and salt, taking care to keep
it perfectly still, a thermometer having been previously placed in it.
The mercury will gradually sink many degrees below the freezing
point 32° (it has been reduced as low as 4°), the water still remaining
fluid; when all at once, either from shaking the table, or simply
because the reduction can be carried no further, it suddenly starts
into ice, and the thermometer jumps up at once to 32°, where it
remains until the whole is frozen, when the temperature gradually
sinks to that of the surrounding medium.
Now if you remove the glass of ice from the freezing mixture into the
apartment, and watch the thermometer, you will find it gradually rise
to 32°, and there remain until all the ice is melted, when it will
gradually acquire the temperature of the room. The reason of this is,
that the water in passing from the solid to the fluid form absorbs, and
in passing from the fluid to the solid form gives out caloric, so
maintaining the temperature at 32°, the point at which the change of
form takes place, until it is completed.
Between the temperature of 32° and 212°, water exists in a fluid
form, under ordinary circumstances; but at the latter point it assumes
the form of vapor or steam, and acquires many of the properties of
gases, being indefinitely expansible by heat, the force increasing as
the temperature is raised, provided the steam be confined, until it
becomes irresistible—witness the frequent explosions of steam-
engines in this country, where the engines are worked at a high
pressure.
The temperature at which water boils is modified by the pressure
applied to it. Thus, as you ascend a mountain, and so pass through
a portion of the atmosphere, water boils at a lower temperature, until
at great heights it boils at so low a heat, that good tea cannot be
made because it is impossible to heat the water sufficiently. Under
the exhausted receiver of an air-pump, water boils at about 140°.
Chlorine.
Another gaseous element, sometimes called a supporter of
combustion, is named chlorine, from a Greek word signifying
yellowish green.
This gas was formerly called “oxymuriatic acid,” being supposed to
be a compound of oxygen and muriatic acid gases, until Sir H. Davy,
in a series of masterly experiments carried on during the years 1808-
9-10 and 11, proved that it contained no oxygen or muriatic acid, and
that it was in fact a simple or undecompounded substance, and
changed its name to chlorine, which name was, after some
discussion, accepted by the scientific world, and is still in use.
This gas may be obtained for experiment, by gently heating in a
retort a mixture of muriatic or hydrochloric acid, hydrochloride, as it is
now called, with some black oxide of manganese: the muriatic acid,
a compound of chlorine and hydrogen, is decomposed, and so is the
oxide of manganese, giving out some of its oxygen, which takes the
hydrogen from the muriatic acid to form water, while the chlorine gas,
with which the hydrogen had been united, is set at liberty, and may
be collected in jars over water.
Chlorine gas is transparent, of a greenish yellow color, has a peculiar
disagreeable taste and smell, and if breathed even in small
quantities, occasions a sensation of suffocation, of tightness in the
chest, and violent coughing, attended with great prostration. I have
been compelled to retire to bed from having upset a bottle containing
some of this gas. It destroys most vegetable colors when moist, and
is in fact the agent now universally employed for bleaching purposes.
It has also the power of combining with and destroying all noxious
smells, and is invaluable as a purifier of foul rooms, and destroyer of
infection. For these latter purposes it is used in combination with
lime, either in substance or solution, under the name of “Chloride of
Lime.”
Chlorine gas is a powerful supporter of combustion, many of the
metals taking fire spontaneously when introduced in a fine state of
division into the gas.
Experiments.
1. Into a jar of chlorine gas introduce a few sheets of copper leaf,
sold under the name of Dutch foil, when it will burn with a dull red
light.
2. If some metallic antimony in a state of powder be poured into a jar
of this gas, it will take fire as it falls, and burn with a bright white light.
3. A small piece of the metal potassium may be introduced, and will
also take fire.
4. A piece of phosphorus will also generally take fire spontaneously
when introduced into this gas. In all these cases direct compounds of
the substances with chlorine are produced, called chlorides.
5. If a lighted taper be plunged quickly into the gas, it will continue to
burn with a dull light, giving off a very large quantity of smoke, being
in fact the carbon of the wax taper, with which the chlorine does not
unite; while the other constituent of the taper, the hydrogen, forms
muriatic acid by union with the chlorine.
6. This substance has the property of destroying most vegetable
colors and is used in large quantities for bleaching calico, linen, and
the rags of which paper is made. It is a curious fact that it shows this
property only when water is present, for if a piece of colored cloth is
introduced dry into a jar of the gas, also dry, no effect will be
produced—wet the cloth, and reintroduce it, and in a very short time
its color will be discharged.
7. Introduce a quantity of the infusion of the common red cabbage,
which is of a beautiful blue color, into a jar of this gas, and it will
instantly become nearly as pale as water, retaining a slight tinge of
yellow. A solution of sulphate of indigo can always be obtained, and
answers well for this experiment.
Muriatic Acid Gas, or Chloride.

With chlorine, hydrogen forms a compound called muriatic, or
hydrochloric acid gas. It cannot easily be formed by the direct union
of its elements, but is procured from some compound in which it
exists ready formed. Common salt (chloride of sodium) is generally
employed; and when acted on by strong sulphuric acid (or oil of
vitriol), the gas is disengaged in abundance. It must be collected
over mercury, for water absorbs it, forming the liquid muriatic, or
hydrochloric acid.
A lighted taper plunged into this gas is instantly extinguished. It is
very dangerous to animal life if respired. It has the property of
destroying animal effluvia, and was once employed to purify the
cathedral of Dijon, which was so filled with putrid emanations from
the bodies buried in it, that it had been closed for some time. It
perfectly succeeded, but it is so destructive to all metallic substances
that it is not used now, for the chlorides of lime and zinc have since
been discovered to act more effectually than the muriatic acid gas,
without its inconvenience.
The compounds of hydrogen with iodine are passed over.
With nitrogen, hydrogen unites and forms one of the most
extraordinary compounds in the whole range of chemistry,—the gas
called ammonia. This is the only gas possessing what are called
alkaline properties; i.e., it changes the blue color of certain
vegetables to green, yellow to deep brown, and unites with the acids
to form neutral compounds, just as the other alkalies, potash and
soda, which are oxides of metals. It may be procured in abundance
by heating the hydrochlorate of ammonia, or sal ammoniac, as it is
usually called, with quick-lime, which takes the hydrochloric acid,
and sets free this remarkable gas. It must be received over mercury,
as it is absorbed to almost any extent by water, forming the fluid sold
as “spirits of hartshorn” in the shops.
This gas is colorless and transparent, lighter than atmospheric air,
and will not support combustion; it has a very pungent but not
disagreeable smell. Under certain circumstances it is combustible.
Experiments.
1. Take a bottle containing chlorine gas, and invert over its mouth
another filled with ammoniacal gas; then if the bottles be held in the
hand (guarded by a pair of gloves), and suddenly turned, so that the
chlorine be uppermost, the two gases will unite so rapidly that a
white flame fills the bottles for an instant.
2. Substitute for the chlorine of the last experiment a bottle of
carbonic or hydrochloric acid gas; in either case the gases
disappear, and a light white powder settles on the sides of the
bottles, being the carbonate or hydrochlorate of ammonia, according
to the acid used.
Carbonate of ammonia is the substance sold for “smelling salts;” and
the hydrochlorate, or muriate of ammonia, is the salt called “sal
ammoniac,” whence the alkaline gas was first obtained, and from
which it got its name of ammonia. The salt itself was so called,
because it was formerly brought from the deserts near the ruins of
the temple of Jupiter Ammon.
This salt is, as has been shown, a compound of muriatic acid gas
and ammoniacal gas, containing therefore only three simple
elements—hydrogen, chlorine, and nitrogen, all gases, and known
only in the gaseous state, its symbol being NH4C2; yet they by union
form a solid body, resembling in all essential qualities the salts of
potash and soda, which are oxides of known metals. Moreover, if
some mercury be placed in a solution of this salt, and subjected to
the action of galvanism, the negative pole being applied to the
mercury, and the positive to the sal ammoniac, the mercury presently
loses its fluidity, increases greatly in size, and in fact presents the
same appearance as when it is mixed with some metal, forming what
is called an “amalgam.” When the battery ceases to act, a
succession of white films forms on the surface of the amalgam, and
the mercury soon returns to its original state. How is this to be
explained? Some chemists have supposed that there must be a
base united to the mercury, and have named this hypothetical
substance “ammonium,” to correspond to potassium and sodium, the
bases of potash and soda, which resemble ammonia in so many
properties. But what is this ammonium? and how is it formed? for
hydrogen and nitrogen are simply elementary bodies. Are all metals
compounds of gases? and are there but a few elements instead of
the 64 now enumerated? This, however, is a difficult question, not
fitted for discussion here.
Carbonate of ammonia may be obtained by mixing together
powdered chalk (which is a carbonate of lime) and muriate of
ammonia, and heating the mixture in close vessels, when the salt in
question will rise in fumes, and be condensed in a mass in the upper
part of the vessel. It is, however, so largely produced in other
manufactures, particularly in gas-works, that there is no necessity to
resort to the more expensive and direct method. It is the well-known
“smelling salts.”
The only other salt of ammonia worth our notice here is the nitrate,
from the destructive distillation of which is obtained the nitrous oxide,
or laughing gas, already mentioned.
Iodine—Bromine—Fluorine.
On the coasts of certain islands belonging to the Duke of Argyll, vast
quantities of sea-weed are occasionally torn up from their ocean
beds and deposited on the shores. This weed, after being partially
dried by exposure to the sun and air, is burnt in a shallow pit; the
ashes are then collected, and form the commercial raw material
called kelp, from which iodine is procured by a gradual series of
processes.
Experiments.
Iodine has a beautiful metallic luster, with a bluish black color, and
should be kept in a well-stoppered bottle. A small quantity placed in
a clear flask and heated, affords a magnificent violet vapor, which
may be poured from the flask into another glass vessel, when it
condenses again into crystalline plates. The color of the vapor
originates the name of this element, so called from a Greek word,
meaning violet-colored. If a little iodine be placed in contact with a
thin slice of phosphorus, the latter takes fire almost immediately.
Bromine.
From the Greek, signifies a bad odor, and is most intimately allied
with chlorine and iodine; like these elements, it belongs to the sea,
and is a constituent of sea-water. Bromine is a very heavy fluid, and
should be preserved by keeping it covered with water in a stoppered
bottle.
Experiments with liquid bromine are not recommended, as all the
most interesting ones can be performed with the vapor, which is
easily procured by letting fall a few drops of bromine into a warm dry
bottle.
Experiments.
Pounded antimony sprinkled into the vapor takes fire immediately.
A thin slice of phosphorus placed in a deflagrating ladle and placed
into the vapor of bromine ignites very quickly.
A solution of sulphate of indigo, or an infusion of red cabbage, are
easily bleached by being shaken violently with the vapor of bromine.
Fluorine.
In many parts of England, especially in Devonshire, Cornwall, and
above all in Derbyshire, is found a very beautiful mineral, known by
the name of Fluor Spar, Derbyshire Spar, and called by the miners
Blue John, to distinguish it from another mineral found in the same
locality, called Black Jack. It occurs in very regular and frequently
large crystals in the form of cubes, and occasionally in octoëdra. It is
a compound of calcium with fluorine, and is very abundant in certain
fossil bones. This element, in combination with hydrogen and called
hydrofluoric acid, acts so energetically upon all substances
containing silica, that it cannot be preserved in vessels of glass or
porcelain—very few of the metals are capable of resisting its action,
lead being nearly the only common metal possessed of this power.
Gutta percha may also be employed for vessels to hold it.
This property of dissolving silica has caused this acid to be used for
engraving on glass.
Experiment.
Mix one part of fluor-spar, quite pure, with two parts of oil of vitriol, in
a saucer, and apply a gentle heat, when the acid will be disengaged
in the form of vapor. Prepare a piece of glass after the manner of
engraving on copper, by coating it with a thin covering of wax,
placing a paper over the wax, and then drawing any design with a
sharp-pointed instrument, when, on removing the paper, the wax-
coating will be found to be removed wherever the instrument has
passed over it. Now invert this glass over the fumes of the acid for
half an hour or so, and then heat the glass so as to soften the
coating, and wipe it off; the design will then appear “bitten in,” as the
term is, that is, the acid will have dissolved the glass wherever it was
not protected by the wax, and will exhibit the design indelibly fixed on
the glass.
This acid requires the greatest care in handling, for it is extremely
corrosive, producing very troublesome ulcers if it comes in contact
with the skin; even the fumes will produce smarting if the skin is long
exposed to them.
Carbon.
The next substance in our list of elementary bodies is named carbon.
The purest form of carbon is the precious stone called diamond,
which consists entirely of carbon in a crystallized form. The French
chemist Lavoisier was the first who proved the combustibility of the
diamond; and Sir H. Davy found that when once set on fire it would
continue to burn in oxygen gas air, and that the product of the
combustion was carbonic acid gas, exactly equal in quantity to the
gas produced by burning an equal weight of pure charcoal, the most
common form of carbon.
Plumbago, or “black-lead,” as it is very improperly called, is also
nearly pure carbon, a very small quantity of iron being united with it.
By far the greater part of all vegetable, and a very large portion of
animal bodies consists of carbon; and in the state of carbonic acid in
combination with lime and some other earths, it forms nearly the half
of all the chalk, marble, and limestone of our hills; so that it is, in one
shape or other, one of the most widely diffused bodies in nature.
Carbon forms two gaseous compounds with oxygen; the first, called
carbonic oxide, is easily obtained by boiling oxalic acid with its own
bulk of sulphuric acid, in a flask to which a cork and bent tube is
attached. The gas comes over in large quantities, and must be
collected in a gas jar, or the pneumatic trough. It is inflammable, and
burns with a lambent blue flame.
The other compound, carbonic acid, is transparent, colorless, much
heavier than atmospheric air, has an agreeable taste, has the power
of irritating the mucous membrane of the nose (as any one can tell
who has drunk soda-water), without possessing any particular odor,
is absorbed by water, does not support respiration, and extinguishes
flame.
Carbonic acid gas may be obtained with the greatest facility by
pouring some muriatic or sulphuric acid, diluted with about six parts
of water, upon some pieces of marble or limestone in a bottle with a
tube attached, when the gas comes over in torrents. It may be
collected over water.
Experiments.
1. To show the great comparative weight of this gas, place a lighted
taper at the bottom of a tall glass jar, then take a jar full of carbonic
acid gas, and pour it as you would pour water into the jar containing
the lighted taper; you will soon find the taper will be extinguished as
effectually as if you had poured water on it, and the smoke of the
taper will float on the surface of the gas in very beautiful wavy forms.
2. Heat a piece of the metal potassium in a metal spoon (platinum is
best), and if introduced in a state of ignition into the gas, it will
continue burning brilliantly, producing a quantity of dense smoke,
which is the carbon from the carbonic acid, the potassium having
seized the oxygen, and being converted by it into potash.
3. If a mouse, bird, or other small animal be placed in a jar of this
gas, it becomes insensible almost immediately; but if speedily
removed it will occasionally recover.
4. Shake up some water with some of this gas in a bottle; the greater
part of the gas will be absorbed by the water, which acquires a
sparkling appearance and a pleasant sharp taste; with the addition of
a little soda this becomes the well-known beverage called soda-
water, so famous for removing the morning headaches caused by
“that salmon” having disagreed at yesterday’s dinner.
It is the presence of this gas which renders it so dangerous to
descend into deep wells, for by its great weight it collects at the
bottom, and instantly suffocates any unfortunate person who
incautiously subjects himself to it. Hence it is prudent always to let
down a lighted candle before any one descends into a well, or other
deep excavation, and if the candle is extinguished, it is necessary to
throw down several pails of water—lime-water, if possible—and
again to try the candle, which must burn freely before it is safe for
any one to descend.
It is this same gas, under the name of “choke-damp,” which proves
so dangerous to miners, particularly after an explosion of “fire-
damp,” for it is the principal product of the explosion, and it is by no
means an easy matter to dislodge it.
Carbonic acid gas has been condensed into the fluid form by
causing it to be disengaged under great pressure; the fluid acid has
the appearance of water. When the pressure is removed, as by
allowing some of the fluid acid to escape from the vessel in which it
has been condensed, it instantly reassumes the gaseous form, and
in so doing absorbs so much latent caloric that a portion of the acid
is actually solidified, and appears in the shape of snow, which may
be collected and preserved for a short time.
Carbonic acid and lime are mutually tests for each other. If a jar
containing a little lime-water be put into a jar of this gas, it speedily
becomes turbid, the gas uniting with the lime, and producing chalk
(the carbonate of lime), which is insoluble in water.
This gas is produced in large quantities by the respiration of animals,
as may be proved by respiring through a tube immersed in lime-
water, when the water will be instantly rendered turbid from the
formation of chalk.
Carbon and Hydrogen.

To the combination of these elements in various proportions, and
with the occasional addition of other substances, we are indebted for
all, or nearly all, our means of obtaining light and heat. Coal, wood,
spirit, oil, and all the varieties of fats, are composed principally of
carbon and hydrogen, and may easily be converted into the gas with
which our houses and streets are lighted, which is nearly pure
carbureted hydrogen.
The two chief definite gaseous compounds of those two elements
are the light carbureted hydrogen and the heavy carbureted
hydrogen, or olefiant gas. The first is easily procured by stirring the
bottom of stagnant water on a hot summer’s day, and collecting the
bubbles in a bottle filled with water and inverted over the place
where the bubbles rise. This gas burns with a yellowish flame, and
when mixed with a certain proportion of air, or oxygen gas, explodes
with great violence on the application of a flame. It is the much
dreaded fire-damp generated so profusely in some coal-mines, and
causing such fearful destruction to life and property when
accidentally inflamed.
The other compound, the heavy carbureted hydrogen, forms part of
the gas used for illumination; and, in fact, whatever substance is
employed for artificial light, whether oil, tallow, wax, etc., etc., it is
converted into this gas by heat, and then furnishes the light by its
own combustion.
This gas has some very curious properties, and may be obtained
nearly pure by mixing in a retort, very carefully, one part of spirits of
wine and four of sulphuric acid. A lamp must be placed under the
retort, when the gas will be speedily disengaged, and come over in
great abundance; it may be collected over water.
This gas is transparent, colorless, will not support combustion, but is
itself inflammable, burning with a brilliant white light, and being
converted into carbonic acid and water. If mixed with three or four
times its bulk of oxygen, or with common atmospheric air in much
larger proportion, it explodes with great violence.
This gas is sometimes called “olefiant gas,” from the property it has
of forming an oily substance when mixed with chlorine.
Experiment.
Into a jar standing over water half full of this gas, pass an equal
quantity of chlorine gas. The gases will speedily unite and form an
oily-looking liquid, which may be collected from the sides of the jar
as it trickles down. By continually supplying the jar with the two
gases as they combine, a considerable quantity of this substance
may be collected. Care should be taken that the olefiant gas is rather
in excess.
The substance produced is insoluble in water, with which it should be
washed by shaking them together in a tube, and has a pleasant
sweetish taste and aromatic smell, somewhat resembling ether.
Coal Gas.
The gas so universally employed for the purposes of illumination is a
mixture of the carbureted and the bi-carbureted hydrogen, with
minute portions of other gases scarcely worth mentioning. It is
procured by submitting coals to a red heat in iron retorts, having a
tube passing from one end, along which passes all the fluid and
gaseous matter separated from the coal, namely, gas tar,
ammoniacal liquor, and various gases, carbureted hydrogen,
carbonic acid, sulphureted hydrogen, etc., etc. The tar and
ammoniacal liquor remain in the vessel in which the tubes from the
retorts terminate, and the gaseous productions are conveyed
through water and lime to separate the impurities; the remaining gas,
now fit for use, passes into large iron vessels, called gasometers,
inverted over water (like the jars in a pneumatic trough), whence it is
sent through pipes and distributed where required. What remains in
the retorts is called coke. It consists principally of charcoal mixed
with the earthy and metallic particles contained in the coal.
Experiment.
If you possess an iron bottle, fill it with powdered coal, and attach a
flexible tube to it, and put it in the fire; as soon as it becomes red-hot,
large quantities of smoke will escape from the end of the tube, being
the gas mixed with all its impurities. By passing it through water (if
mixed with lime it will be better), the gas may be collected in jars
standing over water, and submitted to experiment. If you do not
possess a bottle, take a tobacco-pipe with a large bowl, fill the bowl
with small coal, cover it with clay or putty, and when dry put it into the
fire, and the gas will soon appear at the other end of the pipe, when
it may be lighted, or the gas may be collected over water, as in the
former experiment.
The light carbureted hydrogen contained in this gas is given off
spontaneously in some coal-mines, and as it forms explosive
mixtures with atmospheric air, the mines where it abounds could not
be worked except at the greatest risk until about the beginning of the
present century, when Sir H. Davy, while prosecuting some
researches on the nature of flame, found that flame would not pass
through metallic tubes, and he gradually reduced the length of the
tubes, until he found fine iron-wire gauze formed an effectual barrier
against the passage of flame. He then thought that if the light in a
lantern were surrounded with this gauze it might safely be used in an
inflammable atmosphere, where a naked light would instantly cause
an explosion. Upon submitting the lamp to experiment, he found that
by passing coal-gas by degrees into a vessel in which one of his
lamps was suspended, the flame first became much larger, and then
was extinguished, the cylinder of gauze being filled with a pale
flame, and though the gauze sometimes became red-hot, it did not
ignite the gas outside. As the supply of coal-gas was diminished, the
wick of the lamp was rekindled, and all went on as at first. A coil of
platinum wire was afterwards suspended in the lamps, which
becomes intensely heated by the burning gas, and gives out
sufficient light to enable the miner to see to work. As long as the
gauze is perfect it is almost impossible for the external air to be
kindled by the wick of the lamp, but the miners are so careless that
they will often remove the gauze to get a better light, to look for a
tool, or some cause equally trivial, and many lives have been lost in
consequence of such carelessness.
The effect of the fine wire gauze in preventing the passage of flame
may be shown by bringing a piece of the gauze gradually over the
flame of a spirit-lamp, until it nearly touches the wick, when the flame
will be nearly extinguished, but the vapor of the spirit passes
through, and may be lighted on the upper side of the gauze, which
will thus have a flame on either side, though totally unconnected with
each other. The flame from a gas-burner will answer as well as the
spirit-lamp.
Nearly all the fluids, and solids also, used for procuring artificial light,
such as naptha, various oils, tallow, wax, spermaceti, spirits of wine,
ether, etc., are compounds of carbon and hydrogen in different
proportions, with the occasional addition of some other elements,
especially oxygen and hydrogen, in the proportions to form water; as
a general rule, those bodies containing the greatest proportion of
carbon give the most light, though not necessarily the most heat.
Phosphorus.
The next body we have to notice is phosphorus, a most remarkable
substance, procured from the earthy part of bones by a process not
worth detailing here. It should be always kept under water, and the
naked fingers should not be allowed even to touch it, for the smallest
piece getting under the nail will inflame the first time the hand comes
near the fire, and produce a sore very painful and difficult to heal. It
should be cut under water by a knife or scissors, and removed with a
pair of forceps. Its combustible properties have been frequently
mentioned. It has also the property of shining in the dark, so that if
you write on a wall with a solution of phosphorus in oil, the letters will
appear luminous in the dark—there is no danger, excepting from the
greasiness of the oil.
Of the compounds of phosphorus with oxygen we have nothing to do
here, but it forms with hydrogen a very curious gaseous compound,
which takes fire spontaneously on the contact of air, or almost any
gas containing oxygen.
Experiments.
It may be procured in either of two ways, according to the purpose
for which it is wanted. The simplest way is to put a lump or two of
phosphuret of lime into a saucer, about two inches in depth,
containing some very diluted hydrochloric acid; bubbles of gas will
speedily arise, and bursting on the surface of the fluid will burn with a
slight explosion, and a circular wreath of smoke will rise into the
atmosphere, enlarging as it rises, and wreathing itself round and
round in the most elegant forms. Care must be taken that the
phosphuret is fresh, and has been kept in a well-closed bottle, or the
experiment will fail. The apartment must be free from draughts. If you
desire to collect the gas, another method must be employed.
Fill a small retort quite full, neck and all, of a solution of caustic
potash, drop five or six pieces of phosphorus into it, place the finger
on the end of the retort, and immerse it in a basin also containing a
hot solution of potash, remove the finger, and on applying the heat of
a lamp to the retort, the gas will soon be disengaged rapidly, and
drive out the fluid in the retort; it then escapes into the air, when it
inflames with the same appearances as before described. Or it may
be collected in gas jars filled with the potash solution, and held over
the mouth of the retort. The object in using hot solution of potash in
the basin is, that when the gas ceases to be given off, and the heat
of the lamp is withdrawn, the hot fluid may gradually fill the vacuum
which will form in the retort, and so prevent its being broken.
This gas is transparent and invisible, like most other gases. It is very
poisonous if inhaled. If kept for any time, it loses its property of
spontaneous inflammation, and must therefore be made at the time it
is required.
Sulphur.
Sulphur, or brimstone, as it is frequently called, is sold in the form of
sticks, or roll brimstone, or in fine powder called flowers of
brimstone.
It is capable of showing electric phenomena when rubbed, giving out
slight sparks, and first attracting and then repelling light bodies, such
as small pieces of paper, etc. It is so bad a conductor of heat, that if
grasped suddenly in a hot hand, it will crack and split into pieces just
as glass does when suddenly heated or cooled—of course I am
speaking of the roll brimstone. Water has no effect on it, as may be
seen in the pans placed for pet dogs to drink out of, where the same
piece of brimstone lies for years entirely unaltered, though it is
supposed to prevent the dogs from having the mange!
Sulphur is largely used in the arts, principally in the manufacture of
gunpowder, and fireworks of various kinds.
It combines with hydrogen and forms a gaseous compound called
sulphureted hydrogen, which is almost the most poisonous of all the
gases. It fortunately has so abominable a smell that due notice is
given of its presence. Rotten eggs, a dirty gun-barrel, cabbage
water, putrid animal and vegetable matter, etc., are indebted to this
gas for their inviting odor; and it is found in certain mineral springs,
as at Harrogate, where the water contains a considerable quantity of
this gas, and is found useful in many diseases of the skin. It is also
given off in a gaseous form by some volcanoes.
This gas may be obtained by pouring dilute hydrochloric acid upon a
metallic sulphuret, such as that called crude antimony, being a native
sulphuret of that metal. The gas may be kept for a short time over
water. It is colorless and transparent, inflammable, but quite
irrespirable, a small bird dying instantly when placed in air containing
only 1-1500th of this gas. Its most remarkable property perhaps is
the effect it has on certain metallic oxides and other metallic salts,
blackening them instantly. White paint is easily stained by this gas,
and it will darken the color of a metal in a solution, especially of lead,
even when diluted with 20,000 times its weight of water. By way of
experiment slips of ribbon, silk, or even paper, may be wetted with
various metallic solutions, such as silver, mercury, lead, etc., or
words may be written with the solutions, and on holding them over a
stream of this gas they will be instantly darkened.
If this gas be collected in the pneumatic trough, which is usually
painted white, you will have the pleasure of seeing the color changed
to a very dark brown when your experiments are finished. With this
very limited description of some of the non-metallic elements and
their combinations, we must, for want of space, take leave of this
division of chemistry, “the beginning of which is pleasure, its
progress knowledge, its objects truth and utility.”
Metals.
We have a few words to say about a class of bodies called metals,
which are of the utmost importance to mankind, and indeed without
some of them, especially iron, few of the arts of civilized life could
exist.
Fifty substances are now included in the list of metals; some of them,
however, are only supposed to exist, such as ammonium, the
supposed base of ammonia; and very many are to be viewed rather
in the light of chemical curiosities, as from their great rarity they are
too expensive for use, even if possessed of valuable properties of
which others might be destitute.
Several metals have been known from the earliest period of which
we have any record; such were iron, gold, silver, copper, lead, tin,
mercury, and probably zinc, or at least its ores; for brass, which is an
alloy of copper and zinc, is frequently mentioned in the early part of
the Old Testament. In the sixteenth century others were discovered,
such as antimony and bismuth. In the last century, cobalt, arsenic,
platinum, nickel, manganese and chromium, together with several
unimportant metals, were discovered by various philosophers; while
in the present century, Dr. Wollaston discovered rhodium, the
hardest and nearly the most indestructible of all the metals; and a
few years later Sir Humphry Davy found that the alkalies, potash and
soda, with many of the earths as they were called, had each a metal
for its base, to which he gave the Latin name of the alkali or earth,
with the termination um, as potassium, the base of potassa, sodium
of soda, calcium of calx (lime), etc.
Until Sir H. Davy’s discovery of the metals of the alkalies, great
specific gravity was regarded as one of the most striking
characteristics of a metal, the lightest of them being much heavier
than the heaviest earth; but potassium is very much lighter than
water, and not much heavier than spirits of wine. The other metals
vary from a specific gravity of nearly twenty-one—or twenty-one
times heavier than an equal bulk of water—that of platinum, to
somewhat less than seven, which is the specific gravity of antimony.
When pure, they all have a luster, differing indeed among
themselves, but so peculiar that it is called the metallic luster; for
instance, gold and copper are yellow and red—nearly all the others
white, but of a different shade; still there is no mistaking their metallic
character, no other substances at all equaling them in this respect.
They are also opaque, although some, like gold, when reduced to
thin films, allow light to pass through them. They are all good
conductors of heat and electricity, though some possess that
property to a greater extent than others.
Many of them are what is called malleable, that is, may be extended
or spread out by rolling, or beating them with a hammer; and ductile,
or have the property of being drawn out into wire. Gold, silver,
copper, and iron are the most remarkable in this respect.
All the metals are fusible, but some require very different degrees of
heat to render them fluid—platinum requiring the heat of the oxy-
hydrogen blowpipe, while tin melts in the flame of a candle, and
mercury is fluid at all temperatures in this climate, but becomes solid
at 40 degrees Fahrenheit below 0—a temperature occasionally
experienced in the Arctic regions, where the mercurial thermometer
is useless, the mercury becoming solid.
They are all excellent conductors of heat and electricity, and have
the property of reflecting light and forming mirrors; for looking-
glasses owe their power of reflecting objects principally to what is
called the “silvering;” that is, a mixture of mercury and tin spread
over the back of the glass, which being transparent, allows the
image reflected from the metal to pass through it.
The following classification is most instructive, because it suggests
to the young student that there must be identical properties in the
metals thus placed together:
Class 1. Ammonium, cæsium, lithium, potassium, sodium.
Class 2. Calcium, barium, strontium.
Class 3. Aluminium, cerium, didymium, erbium, glucinium,
lanthanum, thorium, yttrium, zirconium.
Class 4. Zinc class: cadmium, magnesium, zinc.
Class 5. Iron class: cobalt, chromium, indium, iron, manganese,
nickel, uranium.
Class 6. Tin class: niobium, tantalum, tin, titanium.
Class 7. Tungsten class: molybdenum, tungsten, vanadium.
Class 8. Arsenic class: antimony, arsenic, bismuth.
Class 9. Lead class: lead, thallium.
Class 10. Silver class: copper, mercury, silver.
Class 11. Gold class: gold, iridium, osmium, palladium, platinum,
rhodium, ruthenium.
Potassium.
Potassium was discovered by Sir H. Davy in the beginning of the
present century. It is a brilliant white metal, so soft as to be easily cut
with a penknife, and so light as to swim upon water, on which it acts
with great energy, uniting with the oxygen, and liberating the
hydrogen, which takes fire as it escapes.
Experiment.
Trace some continuous lines on paper with a camel’s-hair brush
dipped in water, and place a piece of potassium about the size of a
pea on one of the lines, and it will follow the course of the pencil,
taking fire as it runs, and burning with a purplish light. The paper will
be found covered with a solution of ordinary potash. If turmeric paper
be used, the course of the potassium will be marked with a deep
brown color.—Corollary. Hence, if you touch potassium with wet
fingers you will burn them.
If a small piece of the metal be placed on a piece of ice, it will
instantly take fire, and form a deep hole, which will be found to
contain a solution of potash.
In consequence of its great affinity for oxygen, potassium must be
kept in some fluid destitute of that element, such as naphtha.
Caution!—As the globules of potassium after conversion into potash,
when thrown on ice or water burst, strewing small particles of caustic
hot potash in every direction, the greatest care should be taken to
keep at a sufficient distance whilst performing the above experiment.

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Unamuno’s Religious Fictionalism 1st

Edition Edition Alberto Oya

More information about this series at

Palgrave Frontiers in Philosophy of Religion

Cover illustration: World History Archive / Alamy Stock Photo

“Porque no es sólo que he venido muriéndome, es que se han ido muriendo,

Miguel de UNAMUNO. “Historia de Niebla” (1935).

3 Unamuno on Spinoza’s Conatus: The “hambre de

4 Reason and Experience Against Our Natural Longing for

5 The Biblical Testimony About the Resurrection of Jesus

6 The “sentimiento trágico de la vida”51

7 Love, Charity, and the Argument from Common Consent59

8 Unamuno’s Epistemological Paradigm69

9 Unamuno’s Naturally Founded Religious Fictionalism77

Alberto Oya is a research fellow at the University of Girona, where he

Abstract This introductory chapter outlines the structure of the essay

Keywords Christianity • Immortality • Miguel de Unamuno • Non-­

© The Author(s) 2020 1

faith consists primarily in our conceiving the world as a sort of personal

occurred) the Biblical testimony about the Resurrection of Jesus Christ,

In Chap. 8, I will argue that Unamuno’s notion of religious faith relies

Abstract A biographical introduction to Miguel de Unamuno

Keywords Biography • Life and works • Miguel de Unamuno

Miguel de Unamuno y Jugo (known as Miguel de Unamuno) was born

© The Author(s) 2020 5

(most probably congenital hydrocephalus) which impeded his intellec-

the dictatorship, Unamuno was removed from his position as Rector of

Keywords Conatus • Death • Immortality • Miguel de Unamuno

© The Author(s) 2020 13

collection of nine volumes with more than a thousand pages in each) we

captures its philosophical relevance in Unamuno’s reasoning (cf., e.g.,

However, and while accepting Spinoza’s argument for the conatus,

Nevertheless, this poor Portuguese Jew, exiled in the mists of Holland,

Unfortunately, most scholars seem to have failed to notice the philo-

claim, which is that Unamuno’s religious faith becomes founded in our

Leaving aside Unamuno’s explicit endorsement of Spinoza’s argument

reduced, in one way or another, to our enjoying an endless existence. So,

For men make philosophy precisely to convince themselves of what they

If we were to hypothetically concede that they are not, consciously or

This impossibility of resigning ourselves to uncertainty regarding the

Muriatic Acid Gas, or Chloride.

Carbon and Hydrogen.

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3 Unamuno on Spinoza’s Conatus: The “hambre de

4 Reason and Experience Against Our Natural Longing for

5 The Biblical Testimony About the Resurrection of Jesus

6 The “sentimiento trágico de la vida”51

7 Love, Charity, and the Argument from Common Consent59

8 Unamuno’s Epistemological Paradigm69

9 Unamuno’s Naturally Founded Religious Fictionalism77

Keywords Christianity • Immortality • Miguel de Unamuno • Non-