Camel. Lion. Child

The three transformations of the spirit

Sometimes I wonder why everything is so unnecessarily complicated. The funny thing is that, despite all the intellectual paraphernalia we adore—and with which we adorn ourselves—we’re still ridiculously simple.

That's when I think about Nietzsche’s three transformations of the spirit, as told by Zarathustra. If this little metaphor about human evolution weren’t so disturbingly true, it could easily be the perfect script for an existential comedy.

Stage I: Camel

Imagine being a camel, but not just any camel—one that has volunteered to be the official beast of burden for all the world’s miseries. Because, let’s be honest, we’re far more masochistic than we’d like to admit. The camel, that noble and submissive animal, carries a heavy load on its back: traditions, rules, social expectations, values it doesn’t even fully understand but obediently accepts as if its life depended on it. Ah, the sweet surrender!

We spend our lives dragging along the dictates of others, assuming suffering is some kind of misunderstood virtue. We’ve been convinced that enduring pain gives life meaning. The camel loves to think that the absolute truth—one it never questions—is its greatest treasure. And so, it walks through the desert, legs trembling but spirit convinced that “this is how things are.” “Do what you must,” they say. “Suffer with pride,” they insist. And the poor camel nods along. Why? Because it was taught that nodding is the correct answer.

Now, it’s no coincidence that camels have been the unofficial symbol of the great monotheistic religions. Just look at Muslims, Christians, and Jews. They’ve all got their camel-like rituals, and if you think about it for a second, the absurdity is almost poetic. Take Muslims, for instance, circling a rock in Mecca as if that will bring them some divine revelation.

And what about Christians, kneeling before a wooden crucifix, begging forgiveness for a sin they didn’t even commit? Original sin! A burden they carry like beasts of burden, inherited and passed down generation after generation. No matter how absurd it sounds: there they are, on their knees, convinced that suffering will elevate them spiritually.

Then there are the Orthodox Jews, parading around in their dark clothes, with those curls that seem more important than the very women they should be savagely fornicating with. They walk around, proudly claiming their identity, but without realizing that all they’re shouting to the world is: “I’m a camel! And the ugliest one of all!” Because, let’s face it, what’s the point of being chained to ancient rituals and clothing, when the world has changed so much and they’re still stuck in their own symbolic desert?

The problem is, being a camel is exhausting. Like, really exhausting. More than anyone would care to admit. Carrying the ideals of others, the imposed expectations, the weight of being "what’s expected"—it’s a burden we can’t bear indefinitely. But in our youthful naivety, it seems like the only thing we know how to do. After all, we’ve been taught from a young age to be obedient. Don’t be selfish, don’t rebel, follow the rules and everything will be just fine. And that’s how the camel becomes a sad example of what it means to live according to rules that were never truly ours.

But then, there comes a moment—whether out of desperation or sheer exhaustion—when something inside the camel snaps. Finally! The back can’t take it anymore. Suddenly, the poor camel decides it doesn’t want to carry the load any longer. And so, it transforms into a lion. And the lion, my friends, is that rebellious soul we all carry within when we get fed up with everyone else’s nonsense.

Stage II: Lion

The lion is fierce, aggressive, and completely destructive. The lion roars against everything and everyone. It despises the rules, abhors authority, and wants nothing to do with the past. It’s a cry for freedom. “No more burdens!” is its mantra. And with a ferocious roar, the lion tears everything down in its path. Society, with its mandates and prohibitions, becomes the enemy to conquer.

Being a lion is liberating—it’s like taking off a mask you’ve been wearing for as long as you can remember, but never knew why. Suddenly, you realize you can say "no", and you don’t need to justify it to anyone. But as exciting as it sounds, being a lion has its own drama. Because although the lion is the embodiment of “no,” it gets stuck in that "no". It defines itself by negation, by what it rejects. And while it can destroy with ease, it has no clue how to build something new.

So, there we are, roaring and breaking everything down, but without a single idea of what to do next. Like a teenager in the midst of an existential crisis—tearing apart their room without knowing how to rebuild it. The lion is necessary, but it’s also insufficient. Its rage is a step toward freedom, but it’s not freedom itself.

A recent and colorful example of this lion transformation is none other than Argentina’s president Javier Milei, who has even crowned himself “the lion.” Of course! The Lion Milei! The man who wants to tear down all the vices of Argentine politics, destroy the corrupt system, and free society from the state’s oppression. All of that sounds great, but here’s the twist: this fierce lion is hell-bent on becoming Jewish—in other words, a camel! It’s almost laughable! A lion who, after roaring at everything and everyone, decides to take on religious burdens, rituals, and the rules of Judaism.

There he is, the Argentine lion, roaring with fury but also standing in line for his religious conversion, preparing to take on new traditions and obligations. Nietzsche spoke of these three stages, but he never, ever specified a logical order in which they should unfold. Because, in the end, what could be more absurd than the king of the jungle voluntarily returning to being a beast of burden? Anyway… let’s move on.

After all the roaring and breaking, the lion eventually tires out. It realizes there’s nothing left to destroy. So, what’s next? This is where the third and final act of this tragicomedy appears: the child.

Stage III: Child

The child is freedom incarnate. It’s the being that has left behind the camel’s chains and the lion’s fury. It doesn’t need to carry the expectations of others, but it also doesn’t feel the need to rebel against them. It just is. The child isn’t afraid to create, to play, to explore the world without worrying about external impositions. It doesn’t care about destroying because there’s nothing left to destroy. It no longer carries any burdens, it no longer has to roar against anything.

Being a child is starting over, but from a completely new place. It’s as if the world, which once seemed like a battlefield, has become an amusement park. The child doesn’t follow rules because it “has to,” nor does it reject them because it “must.” It just lives. Plays. Reinvents itself. It’s creative, free, and unshackled by the chains that once enslaved it. What could be more subversive than a human being who no longer needs to fight for their freedom because they already have it?

So, how much longer do you plan on being a camel?

Here we are, with three transformations that, whether we like it or not, we all experience at some point in our lives. We start as camels, submissive and obedient, carrying the weight of a society that crushes us. We turn into lions, furious and rebellious, rejecting everything we’ve been forced to accept. And if we’re lucky, we finally become children: free, playful, and, for the first time, truly human.

But let’s be honest: most people never make it past their camel stage. They stay there, in the desert, convinced that the load they carry is what gives them meaning. Others, braver or more foolish, transform into lions, but very few make it to the final step. Very few become that child who isn’t afraid to live without burdens or battles.

So, if you’re reading this and still feel the weight of the load on your back, maybe it’s time to ask yourself: how much longer do you plan on being a camel?

Life is an absurd game, sure, but the problem is that many prefer to keep carrying their miseries with pride rather than learning to play. The saddest part is that most never even imagine what it truly means to be a child: to be free.

And of course, freedom is terrifying.

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