I Moved Your Cheese (3 page)

“Finally, I came to the same conclusion that all other young mice come to. I concluded that a mouse in the maze could never understand
why
. But, unlike other mice, I did not do the next logical thing—which is to stop wondering why.

“Instead, realizing that there is only so much that a mouse in the maze can know and understand … I resolved to get
out
of the maze.

“At first, even the idea of it seemed nonsensical.

What did it even mean to get
out
of the maze? Was there such a thing? But, try as I might to reach a different decision, my passion drew me to this conclusion. And so, I began to explore how this might happen.

“I already knew that there were edges to the maze—walls beyond which there were no passages. I tried to figure out ways to break through these walls. It was impossible. I tried to dig through the floor, wondering if there was a world beneath the ground. Again I failed.

“I concluded that the only way out … was ‘up.'

“Now, most mice never bother to look in any direction other than straight, left, right, and down—and even down is a direction that only matters when we want to find the last crumbs of cheese after a meal. Of course, as kids, we
often extended our necks in the opposite direction from down and looked curiously toward the source of light. But we soon discovered that it was of no value, so we stopped bothering to do so.

“I decided that it might be worth taking another look. And, as one might expect, there was nothing to see. The walls seemed to extend indefinitely upward. But I did not give up. I looked up from every spot in the maze. I did this for days. And then it struck me. I discovered something.

“I noticed that if you stood in a passage and measured the length of the wall's shadow, and then stood in a parallel passage and measured the shadow of that wall—from the same direction—the shadows were of slightly different lengths. What this meant, of course, was that
the light source was in the direction of the first wall, and that the walls were not infinitely high. There is nothing shocking about this. But, after reflecting on the problem for a number of days, I discovered that I could compute the angles at which the light was entering each passage by measuring the lengths of the shadows, the distance between the walls of the two passages, and the distance between either of the walls and another parallel wall that had no shadow. This was not easy, because there are only a few places in the maze where one can find three walls that are parallel to each other, and where the arrangement is such that one of the walls produces no shadow on either side. But then, finding this spot, making some additional reasonable assumptions, and calculating the angles, I could determine the height of the walls!

“I did the calculations and discovered the height. It would take about four mice standing on top of each other to reach the top. I recruited other mice but soon discovered that mice are not strong enough to bear the weight of more than one mouse standing on top of them. That was a problem.

“I then started to accumulate cheese—as much as I could find. I started to stack it all in a pile. But it was no use. It was not strong enough to hold my weight. Each time I tried to climb on top of the stack, I found myself in the middle of it, covered with cheese.

“I even tried to scale the walls using my claws. Again I failed.

“But then, just as I was running out of ideas, I had an encounter. It was an encounter with a
mouse like no other I had ever met. A mouse who defied all logic. A mouse who was perhaps uniquely capable of solving my problem …

“It was a mouse named Big.”

It was not his real name, but everyone called him Big. The reason was quite obvious: he was big. He was by no means the largest mouse in the maze. He was not genetically predisposed to being as large as some mice are. But he was the strongest mouse in the maze. It was not even a contest—he was the strongest mouse any other mouse could have imagined. And he was big because he wanted to be big—and because he worked at it.

It is rare to see a mouse exercising. It is practically unheard of in the maze. There is no reason for it—obtaining cheese is hardly ever a test of strength. In any case, Big did not eat very much. While a mouse will typically eat any and all
cheese that he can find, Big ate just enough to support his growth. There was often cheese left on the ground after Big completed his meals. This was strange to other mice. For them, a meal was over only when there was no more cheese left to eat.

Unlike others, Big never even went in search of food. He never had to do so. If he went to eat and found that the cheese had been moved, he wasn't bothered. His daily workout involved enough running through the maze that he invariably ran into new piles of cheese every few hours. On the rare occasion that he did not find any cheese, he would simply not eat. His friends would ask him, “Why don't you go look for cheese today?”

He would reply plainly, “That's not the game I'm playing.”

They would go without him.

So why work so hard to build muscle? Why spend so much time exercising? Why bother? What was the
purpose
? Big had been asked these questions his entire life.

Usually, he did not provide an answer. When he did, he would state simply, “I am the purpose.”

No one bothered asking him what he meant.

Big was content. He had discovered what made him happy. And he did exactly that. He did not care if others understood. It did not matter that others would find no happiness in his pursuit. This was for him. For other mice, it would be different. And that, to Big, was entirely OK.

Big did not notice that he was in a maze. It was irrelevant to him. It imposed no restrictions on
him. He had many friends and plenty of time to spend with them. More importantly, his environment provided him with ample opportunity to pursue his passion—to find peace and happiness. So he did not bother to consider the maze.

Until …

Well, one day Big realized that something had changed in his life. And he found himself, for the first time, considering the maze—noticing its existence. But we will get to that story later. Sometime before that happened, Big met Max.

And that is where we are in Max's telling of his story.

Max continued his tale.

“Big came to me one day and said that he had heard I was attempting something crazy. He smiled as he said the word
crazy
, as if to emphasize his indifference to the term. I did not know Big—I had never even heard of him—but the sight of him was stunning. I have never seen a mouse so strong—so complete. When he told me his name was Big, I had to smile.

“Big told me that he had overheard some mice talking about ‘this fella Max' who was pursuing an impossible goal. He became interested when he heard one of the mice say that I should quit being a child and go find some cheese. When another mouse added roughly that I was in my
own little world, playing by my own rules, and that I was setting a bad example for the younger mice, Big decided he had to come and see me.

“Big was not interested in why I wanted to scale the wall. He did not ask me whether I thought it was possible. Instead, he asked me how high I estimated the wall to be.

“I told him it was as high as four mice.

“After a moment, he stated, ‘I think I can help you.'

“I asked him how he could help. I thought about what his answer might be, but the idea of it seemed far-fetched.

“That didn't stop Big from proposing it.

“‘I can throw you up there. How does that sound?'

“Unfeasible as it sounded, I knew that Big meant what he said.

“Only two words came to mind. ‘Thank you,' I responded with deep appreciation.

“‘Let's get moving then,' suggested Big with a smile.

“Big positioned himself so that he was standing on his hind legs with his back to the wall. He asked me to run toward him as fast as possible and then to jump up as I reached him. I did as I was told. I ran as fast as I could, and then I jumped. The moment I reached the height of my jump, I felt Big reach beneath my hind legs, and with a powerful lift, he propelled me upward. Before I knew it, my eyes were level with the top of the wall, and just as I was beginning to fall back down, I reached for the wall
and grabbed it. I pulled myself up and carefully balanced myself on the thin width of the wall.

“There I was … A mouse who was no longer in the maze. A mouse who at that moment could see farther than any mouse had ever dreamed possible. A mouse who was about to answer the question that countless before him had posed but had eventually relinquished as impossible: Who moved my cheese?

“And I was not going to stop there.”

Max continued his story.

“There are other ‘beings' out there. They are like mice, but bigger. They are smarter than most mice but not as smart as some. They are called
people
. Some of these people created the maze, and it exists for their pleasure and profit—for their purposes.

“Our world—that which is our
given
—is no such thing. It is not a given outside the maze. It is designed. Its design suits the needs and interests of those who are in control. These people are the ones who give shape to our maze. They create our rules and provide our rewards and punishments. They can do this because we love cheese more than anything
else. They can do this because we are mice in a maze. And for a mouse in a maze, it is all about the cheese.

“Since my first expedition outside the maze—I have had many since—I have learned a tremendous amount. I spent many months learning the language of people. I listened to them and read what they wrote. I discovered that our maze is one of many. There are other mice and other beings. While all beings are different, they are also similar in some ways.

“We need a certain amount of cheese to sustain us. But I have learned that our pursuit is not fueled by a desire to have more cheese. In fact,
having
more cheese does not make us happier—only
getting
more cheese matters to us. When we obtain a certain amount, we get used to it—and so we want more.

“Life in the maze conditions us so that no amount of cheese will ever satisfy a mouse. Happiness and peace—these are what we spend our lives pursuing as we run through the maze. But when we reach our destination, we do not find them. We only find more cheese. Again and again, the cheese fails to live up to its promise. And yet we refuse to question our beliefs about cheese, or about what will actually bring us happiness. Instead, we gear up and go looking for more cheese. And the pursuit continues.

“Earlier today, Zed, you asked the gathered crowd:
Is it possible to pursue happiness if the pursuit itself does not make you happy?

“How many mice have the courage to answer that question? How many will be able to accept what the answer implies we should do?

You are asking mice to do things they have never learned. You are asking them to question and to
think
, but they choose to accept things as given. You are asking them to find
themselves
, but they are busy finding cheese. You are asking them to run their
lives
, but they are busy running the maze.

“You, Zed, are asking them to
be
. But they have learned only to do.

“But we mice are not alone in this. All beings are like this. Even people. They also have their mazes. They also have their cheese. But they don't use those names. They have discovered something about mice, but they do not see that their lives are similar. They, too, accept the maze as a given and see the walls as insurmountable. They, too, refuse to take action. They, too, fail to ask the most important questions.

“I have discovered that it is not irrelevant or impractical to ask, ‘Who moved my cheese?' It must be known. Because it can be controlled. Indeed, it is controlled. But mice in a maze do not control it. For mice who have accepted their maze as a given—as a prison—there is no decision but to react to the designs of others. But for those who refuse to accept the maze as a given, who will challenge its design, there is another possibility: the decision to act.

“And so I have acted. I was told there is no answer to the question
why
. I was told there is no choice but to accept change. I was told to pursue only cheese. I was told that the pursuit of cheese is a given. I was told that my place is in the maze, and that the maze is a given.

“Well, I have proven otherwise.

“And that's not all … there is one more thing I have done.

“I was taught that if anyone ever asks aloud in frustration or confusion, “Who moved my cheese?” then I should tell that mouse it doesn't matter who moved it; it only matters that the cheese is gone.

“Well, I now have a different response to that question. The next time a mouse asks aloud, ‘Who moved my cheese?' I am going to
answer
that question.

“But the answer is not what you might think, Zed—because things are different now … I changed them.

“My answer to the mouse will be this:
I
moved your cheese.”

“Once I learned the language of people, I spent much of my time studying them. I also read what they wrote about the maze. I learned how they designed it and for what purpose. I learned why they moved the cheese and how they decided where to move it. Many of the questions I had asked since childhood were answered. I discovered why there are so many useless paths in the maze, and why there are so many different ways to get to the same place.

“I learned all of this, and it explained why things work the way they do in the maze. But it did not
justify
it. In fact, there was no justice in it whatsoever. Those who had designed the maze had done so for their own benefit and
for their own purposes. But they did not live in the maze. We did. I came to understand the
why
, but I was unwilling to accept it.