The riddle of the Sphinx. Unamuno, Life 3.6

Am I more than my body? What is the relationship between material, physical existence and immaterial or metaphysical purpose? Unamuno can broach the question, but will he answer?

Si al morírseme el cuerpo que me sustenta, y al que llamo mío para distinguirle de mí mismo, que soy yo, vuelve mi conciencia a la absoluta inconsciencia de que brotara, y como a la mía les acaece a las de mis hermanos todos en humanidad, entonces no es nuestro trabajado linaje humano más que una fatídica procesión de fantasmas, que van de la nada a la nada, y el humanitarismo lo más inhumano que se conoce.

Y el remedio no es el de la copla que dice:

              Cada vez que considero

              que me tengo de morir,

              tiendo la capa en el suelo

              y no me harto de dormir.

¡No! El remedio es considerarlo cara a cara, fija la mirada en la mirada de la Esfinge, que es así como se deshace el maleficio de su aojamiento.

Si del todo morimos todos, ¿para qué todo? ¿Para qué? Es el ¿para qué? de la Esfinge, es el ¿para qué? que nos corroe el meollo del alma, es el padre de la congoja la que nos da el amor de esperanza.

Take the body that I call mine to distinguish it from myself, what I really am. If my consciousness returns upon the death of that body to a total unconsciousness whence it sprang—and this happens likewise to the consciousness of all my fellowmen, my brethren in humanity—then our storied lineage is nothing more than a dreary procession of ghosts, passing from nothing into nothing, and humanitarianism becomes the most inhumane thing we know.

The cure for this is certainly not the one offered by the couplet:

              Every time I turn my mind

              To the fact that I must die

              I toss my cloak upon the floor

              To sleep, and sleep, and long for more.

Nay! The cure is to consider our fate face to face, to fix our gaze upon the eyes of the Sphinx (†), who loses thus the might of her evil eye.

If we all die utterly, then why all this world? What is its purpose? The question for what? belongs to the Sphinx, and it is this question that corrodes the very core of our souls, that sires upon us the anguish that grants our love of hope.

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(†) Unamuno is thinking of the mythological Greek monster that struck the city Thebes with a plague, which subsided when the hero Oedipus successfully answered her riddling question (what has one voice, four feet, two feet, and then three? answer: humanity; cf. Apollodorus 3.5.8).