Of the Three Metamorphoses

Of the three metamorphoses of the spirit I tell you: how the spirit becomes a camel; and the camel, a lion; and finally, the lion a child.

Much that is heavy does there exist for the spirit, the strong, enduring spirit in which respect resides: it longs for the heavy and the heaviest.

What is heavy? so asks the enduring spirit; thus it kneels down like the camel, wanting to be well laden.

What is the heaviest thing, you heroes? asks the enduring spirit, that I may take it upon myself and rejoice in my strength.

Is it not this: to debase oneself in order to injure one's pride? To let one's folly shine in order to mock one's wisdom?

Or is it this: to desert our cause when it celebrates its triumph? To climb high mountains to tempt the tempter?

Or is it this: to feed upon the acorns and grass of knowledge and for the sake of truth to suffer hunger of the soul?

Or is it this: to be sick and dismiss comforters, and to make friends with the deaf who never hear what you want?

Or is it this: to wade into dirty water if it be the water of truth, and not to disdain cold frogs and hot toads?

Or is it this: to love those who despise us, and to give one's hand to the phantom when it is going to frighten us?

All these heaviest things the enduring spirit takes upon itself: like the camel, which, laden, hastens into the desert, thus it hastens into its desert.

But in the loneliest desert happens the second metamorphosis: here the spirit becomes a lion; it wants to win its freedom and be master in its own desert.

Here it seeks out its last master: it wants to fight him and its last god, for ultimate victory it wants to battle with the great dragon.

Which is the great dragon whom the spirit will no longer call lord and god? "Thou-shalt," is the name of the great dragon. But the spirit of the lion says "I will."

"Thou-shalt," lies in its path, glittering with gold—a scale-covered beast; and on every one of its scales glitters a golden "Thou shalt!"

Values thousands of years old shine on these scales; and thus speaks the mightiest of all dragons: "All value of all things shines on me."

"All value has been created, and all created value—that is me. Indeed, there shall be no more 'I will." Thus speaks the dragon.

My brothers, why is there need of the lion in the spirit? Why is not the beast of burden, which renounces and is reverent, enough?

To create new values—that, even the lion cannot yet accomplish: but to create itself freedom for new creation—that can the might of the lion do.

To create freedom for oneself and a sacred "No" even to duty— for that, my brothers, the lion is needed.

To assume the right to new values—that is the most terrifying assumption for a load-bearing and reverent spirit. Indeed, for such a spirit it is preying, and the work of a predatory beast.

Once it loved "thou shalt" as its most sacred; now it has to find delusion and caprice even in the most sacred things in order to wrest freedom from its love: the lion is needed for this prey.

But tell me, my brothers, what can the child do that even the lion cannot? Why must the preying lion still become a child?

Innocence is the child, and forgetting, a new beginning, a game, a self-rolling wheel, a first movement, a sacred "Yes."

For the game of creation, my brothers, a sacred "Yes" is needed: the spirit now wills his own will, the world's outcast now wins his world.

Of the three metamorphoses of the spirit I tell you: how the spirit became a camel; and the camel, a lion; and finally, the lion a child.

Thus spoke Zarathustra. And at that time he abode in the city which is called the Pied Cow.