Let’s Take a Stroll at the Existential Zoo
Or, Nietzsche and the three metamorphoses of the spirit
Imagine this: you’re at a zoo. But not just any zoo—the Existential Zoo, where the enclosures don’t hold animals but stages of human transformation. Which, now that I think about it, would make for a pretty poorly attended zoo, but an absolutely fascinating metaphor. And if there’s one thing Friedrich Nietzsche loved, it was a good metaphor.
Nietzsche, for those unfamiliar, was a 19th-century German philosopher with an impressive moustache and even more impressive ideas (ideas that were often misunderstood, sometimes intentionally).
Nietzsche wasn’t just critiquing society; he was trying to reimagine what it meant to be human. In his book Thus Spoke Zarathustra, he introduces us to the three stages of human growth, told through the journey of his semi-mythical prophet, Zarathustra (named after Zoroaster, an ancient Persian religious figure). But the real protagonist here? Us, and the gradual metamorphosis of our souls.
Stage One: The Camel
At the first enclosure of our metaphorical zoo, we find the camel.
Not the desert-wandering, water-hoarding creature, but a spiritual beast of burden. The camel is the part of us that carries the weight of expectation.
From the moment we enter this world, we inherit a long list of “thou shalts.”
Thou shalt get good grades
Thou shalt pursue a respectable career
Thou shalt not question why we clap to show appreciation
The camel represents the individual who humbly accepts traditional values and societal expectations. It is a state of discipline and self-denial.
At first, we don’t even notice the load on our backs because it feels normal. Society hands us these invisible burdens, and like loyal camels, we trudge forward, convinced that duty and obedience are virtues in themselves.
Nietzsche isn’t saying that responsibility is bad, but he is asking: Is this really your responsibility? Or was it handed to you without your consent?
This is where most people stop. They spend their entire lives as camels, mistaking obedience for meaning. But some—just some—begin to feel the weight and wonder why they are carrying it at all. And these people… well, they start to change.
Stage Two: The Lion
When the camel grows restless and begins to suspect that all these rules, all these “thou shalts,” might not be absolute truths but inherited assumptions, quite suddenly, the camel shrugs off its burden and transforms into a lion. Not just any lion, but a defiant, roaring, rebellious force of nature.
The lion represents the rejection of traditional values and the assertion of individual will (“I will”) against the dragon of “thou shalt.”
If the camel’s defining word was “should,” the lion’s defining word is “No.”
No, I don’t have to live the life others mapped out for me
No, I won’t blindly follow traditions I don’t believe in
No, I won’t wear uncomfortable shoes just because they “look nice”
But here’s the thing: while the lion is powerful, it is also angry. It has learned to reject, but it doesn’t yet know what to embrace. The lion embodies the courage and strength to break free from old constraints. But while the lion can create freedom for itself, it cannot create new values.
And this is where a lot of people get stuck—believing that tearing things down is the same as building something new. Rebellion, after all, is as much a cage as obedience if it becomes your only mode of being.
Nietzsche understood this, which is why he knew the transformation was not yet complete. There is one final metamorphosis left.
Stage Three: The Child
The final metamorphosis is the child, representing innocence, forgetting, and a new beginning.
This, Nietzsche says, is the highest form—the place where creation begins. The child does not carry burdens like the camel, nor does it waste its energy on rebellion like the lion. Instead, the child is free. Free to play, free to create, free to say “yes” instead of only ever saying “no.”
Because what is the point of tearing down a house if you never build something in its place? What is the point of rejecting everything if you never learn to embrace what truly matters to you? The child understands something the lion does not: life is not just a battle to be fought. It is a canvas, waiting for us to paint on it.
To be a child in Nietzsche’s sense is not to be naive, but to be fearless in your own becoming. To create meaning for yourself rather than inherit it. To live, not because you were told how to, but because you are excited by the infinite possibilities of what you could be.
And if you’ve made it this far, you might be wondering if all of this leads somewhere. If complete transformation results in something final, such as nirvana. Nietzsche’s answer is… no, not really.
According to Nietzsche, the progression from camel to lion to child is essential for self-overcoming, a crucial aspect of achieving the state of Übermensch (often translated as “Overman” or “Superman”). But the Übermensch is not a finish line. It’s rather a direction. An ongoing process. A commitment to always evolving, always questioning, always becoming something more than you were before.
Nietzsche doesn’t want us to stay the same. He wants us to transform, again and again and again. To be camels when we must, lions when we need to fight, and children when we remember how to dream.
So, this begs the question: where are you now?
Are you carrying a burden you’ve never questioned? Are you shaking off chains, rebelling against the weight of tradition? Or—just maybe—are you ready to create?
Food for thought.
Some news (basically the same one I shared last week).
So I’ve been writing short stories for the past eight months, and guess what? It turns out writing stories is super fun. I’ve written enough now that I figured, hey, maybe it’s time to start sharing them. So if you like stories, are curious, or just want to see what happens when I put words in a row, you can sign up and check them out. There are already a bunch waiting for you! No pressure, just vibes.
I don’t stick to a plan or a genre—stories show up when they feel like it, shaped by memory, mood, or whatever weird thought popped into my head that day.
For me, writing is a way to figure things out, talk to the past, and, occasionally, just pass the time. If you enjoy what you read, then awesome! That means this whole thing is working.
This post is free, but it took infinite cups of coffee, a few days of thinking, three hours of excited scribbling, and a couple more hours of ruthless editing (which, let’s be real, was the hardest part). If you enjoyed it, you can keep the creativity (and caffeine) flowing by sponsoring my next cup!