The cephalopod
The octopus was curled up in a corner of the aquarium, a gray mass of tentacles and soft flesh. It sat perfectly still, but faint waves of red traveled across its skin, betraying excitement. Slowly it began to move towards a jar in the center of the aquarium. Inside was a live crab. The octopus enveloped the jar, sliding the tips of its tentacles through small holes in the lid, reaching for the crab. But the holes were too small, its tentacles too large. The crab remained out of reach. The octopus let go of the jar, jetted away, and again curled its gelatinous body up in a corner.
Dr. Hanai, the world’s second-most renowned expert on cephalopod cognition, paused the video and said:
― But if you think Sandy would give up on a meal so easily, think again! She’s just taking a moment to consider her options. A crab is worth the effort.
A murmur went through the audience of marine biologists. They’d seen many videos like this and knew what was coming. But they were still eager to see it. The thrill of watching an octopus hunt never got old.
― Now let’s see how Sandy solves this problem, Dr. Hanai said, resuming the video with a smile.
Sandy again approached the jar, again enveloped it, and again slid the tips of her tentacles through the holes in the lid. But this time, rather than fruitlessly reaching for the crab, she calmly turned the lid, unscrewing it until it came off. She tossed the lid aside and slid into the jar, compressing her body to a fraction of its original size. There was a brief moving jumble of hard crab and soft octopus. Then Sandy emerged from an empty jar.
― Impressive, isn’t it? But let me ask the question that’s on all your minds right now: Has Sandy solved this problem intelligently? Has she thought it through? Or was it dumb luck? Let me see a show of hands! Who of you feels Sandy has blindly, unintelligently, stumbled upon the correct way to open the jar?
The audience looked around, waiting for colleagues to go first. After some hesitation, about two-thirds raised their hands.
― Okay, I see. Most of you don’t think highly of Sandy’s intelligence. I get that. Based on what you’ve seen so far, you should be skeptical. So let me show you another video. Let’s see if this will change your mind.
The next video showed Dr. Hanai standing in front of the aquarium. She held another jar, again with a crab inside. Sandy was curled up in her usual corner of the aquarium. It was unclear if the animal was watching Dr. Hanai or if her thoughts were elsewhere – or indeed anywhere. The jar was slightly different from the one in the previous video. The lid was not screwed on, but held in place with a lock. Dr. Hanai showed a key to the camera. She slowly inserted the key into the lock and turned it. The lid came off. In clear view of the camera, she gave Sandy an exaggerated, conspiratorial wink. The octopus seemed oblivious. She closed the jar with the crab still inside, and lowered both into the aquarium.
Sandy remained motionless for a while, although more and more colored waves traveled across her skin. She then moved towards the jar, again enveloping it. It seemed as if she was trying to unscrew the lid again, but it didn’t move. She extended one tentacle towards the key and grabbed it. She seemed to explore the key, tasting it with her suckers. Then, in a series of smooth movements, she inserted the key into the lock, turned it, opened the lid, and ate the crab.
A wave of awe and astonishment went through the audience.
I sat at the back of the conference room, observing Dr. Hanai play the audience. Her performance represented everything I loathed – sensationalist, unscientific storytelling. A single video of a single octopus doing something clever wasn’t scientific evidence. It was a cute anecdote, nothing more. But with her effortless authority and casual beauty, Dr. Hanai shut down the critical-thinking skills of her audience, even though it consisted of scientists who were viciously skeptical in every other situation. She had a way about her that made you believe everything she told you.
I left the conference room and walked towards a table with refreshments. I poured coffee from a thermos into a plastic reusable cup. It didn’t smell appealing, but I drank it anyway. Dr. Hanai came out of the room, followed by a cloud of fawning colleagues, mostly men. She chatted cheerfully with everyone. Then she noticed me, excused herself, and walked over.
― Hi Stan. What did you think?
― It was interesting. I’m sure the media are going to be all over it.
― Do I sense skepticism?
― I’m just wondering how many hours of video you had to sift through to get this one fragment.
― Not many. Sandy does it every single time. When she’s hungry at least. And it’s not just Sandy either. Sally, Sandra, Cantor, Cain. Some of them are a bit quicker than others, of course. But they all get it in the end.
― Still I’d like to see this behavior replicated in a different lab. I hope you don’t mind my skepticism, but so far all I’ve seen is this one video. And frankly I find it a little too incredible. Tool use? Observational learning? Do you really believe an octopus can do all that?
― Why don’t you try it in your own lab then? See how your own animals do.
― Perhaps I will.
― If you do, will you let me know how it goes?
― Sure.
― And maybe you can also let me know how things are, you know … with you?
A bell sounded, indicating the next sessions were about to start. I was planning to attend Octopus Development and Senescence in Conference Room 3.
― Stan?
― Yes?
― You look tired.
― I’ve just been busy. You know, doing … science.
When I got back to the lab, I asked our technician to build a jar similar to the one Dr. Hanai had used. By way of example I sent her a link to the video Dr. Hanai had – of course – posted on YouTube. It already had over three million views. I browsed through the comments. Most liked was a suggestion for a follow-up experiment involving Dr. Hanai and tentacle sex. The video had featured on New Scientist and several other major sites. Scientific American had even run a lengthy interview, focusing on how Dr. Hanai exemplified a new generation of brilliant women about to upset the traditional order of male-dominated science. They compared her to Emmanuelle Charpentier. I wondered how Dr. Charpentier would feel about her work on CRISPR-Cas-9 gene editing being considered a comparable scientific achievement to a YouTube video of a clever octopus. Someone had also added the video to the Wikipedia page about Cephalopod Intelligence. I edited the page, leaving the video, but indicating the article’s neutrality was disputed.
Our lab had several specimens of Octopus wolfi, a small octopus with an arm span of a few centimeters. They were friendly creatures that darted around their tank like tentacled goldfish. But not very smart. We also had a single specimen of Enteroctopus dofleini, a deep-sea octopus with an arm span of about ten meters. The E. dofleini was a passive creature that mostly sat in the corner of its tank. Only when fed did it briefly come to life, slowly reaching out with an enormous tentacle to grab a chunk of crab meat and carry it to its beak. The E. dofleini did not have any of the playfulness of the smaller octopuses. Its natural deep-sea habitat offered little opportunity for playful exploration. For the experiment, I decided to use a specimen of Octopus vulgaris, a medium-sized species with an arm span of about a meter. Dr. Hanai had used O. vulgaris for her experiments as well.
I took an O. vulgaris specimen – OV-13 – from its tank and transferred it to the lab aquarium for testing. I took the jar that our lab technician had built, put a live crab inside, and locked it with a key. In clear view of OV-13, I opened and closed the jar a few times. I felt silly performing this act in front of an octopus that didn’t seem interested in the slightest. Then I lowered the jar into the aquarium, tossing the key behind it.
OV-13 approached the jar. It stuck the tips of its tentacles through the holes in the lid, reaching for the crab. The crab responded by grabbing a tentacle with a pincer. It looked painful. OV-13 pulled back and jetted away, curling up in a corner. Nothing happened for an hour. I drank coffee and worked on a position article in which I argued that the elaborate skin patterning of Wunderpus photogenicus was best understood as the result of sexual selection, rather than camouflage.
Then OV-13 came to life again. It approached the jar and again slid its tentacles through the holes, but more carefully this time, suggesting it had learned from the previous painful experience. Its body tensed as it exerted considerable force to open the jar. But OV-13 did not think to pick up the key and unlock the jar. Its attempts remained limited to brute force. After a few minutes of fruitless wrestling, OV-13 let go and jetted back to its corner.
My phone buzzed – an email from Katsumi Hanai.
hi s, how are you doing? i'm just wondering if you've tried to replicate our jar-locked-with-a-key (for lack of a better term) experiment? if so, how is this going? and how are you doing otherwise? i was thinking that maybe you could visit our lab sometime? you could see how things have changed here. and give a talk about your latest work on camouflage in photogenicus, which is really interesting. my students would love to meet you. 愛 k.
Dear Kat, I’ve indeed been running a replication. With little success, although I've only collected pilot data with a single untrained vulgaris specimen so far. I'll keep trying and let you know how it goes. Thank you for the invitation to visit your lab. But I'm afraid I'm very busy at the moment. Regards, Stan
hi s, i hope you don't mind my imposing some unwanted advice re: the experiment. but here are a few important things to consider. the first is the training schedule. as you know, a naive octopus is unlikely to spontaneously figure out how to open a jar with a key. that's why we first train them with a regular jar that they can open by force. then we train them with a jar they need to unscrew (as you saw in the video). and only then do we give them a jar they need to unlock with a key. the lid should also have holes in it so the octopus can smell the crab. and then there’s the material of the jar and the key. this shouldn’t taste 'dirty' to their suckers. we tend to use plastic and glass which they seem fine with. we tend to avoid metal which they don't seem to like. i hope this is useful! perhaps if you don't manage to replicate despite all this, i could visit sometime and we could look at it together? k.
Dear Kat, thank you for the advice. I will try it and keep you posted. Regards, Stan
OV-11 approached the jar. Over the past weeks I’d followed a strict training schedule, occasionally checking with Kat to verify my procedure matched hers. First I let OV-11 figure out how to open a jar by force, which it understood almost immediately. Then I let it figure out how to open a jar by screwing off the lid. This had taken a bit longer, but the animal eventually got it. Now it was time to open a jar by unlocking it with a key. I’d just spent a few minutes elaborately showing OV-11 how to pick up the key, insert it into the lock, turn it, and open the lid. I’d even made ‘hmm’ sounds to convey how delicious the crab looked. Then I’d put the jar and key into the aquarium. I was nervous.
OV-11 enveloped the jar. It stuck its tentacles through the holes in the lid and tried to unscrew it. When this did not work, it resorted to brute force. Its body tensed and rippled as it tried to tear the jar apart with its powerful muscles. But the jar and the lid were made of Plexiglas, and no octopus, except perhaps for E. dofleini, was strong enough to break it. Then OV-11 did something unusual. Instead of letting go of the jar and retreating back to a corner to sulk, it shoved the jar away with a powerful push of its tentacles. Bright red stripes traveled across its skin. Then it picked up the jar again and bashed it against the glass wall of the aquarium. This was the first time I’d witnessed something resembling emotion in an octopus. I couldn’t wait to tell Kat. But the experiment had not been successful.
Hi Kat, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is OV-11 did something really interesting today. It got agitated when it didn't manage to open the jar (the one locked with a key) and then essentially threw a tantrum! It shoved the jar away and bashed it against the aquarium glass. To me it looked like a clear display of frustration. Have you ever seen an octopus express itself like this? The bad news is OV-11 didn’t figure out the lock. But I’ll keep trying. I feel that with OV-11 we're really close. Stan
hi s, that's so interesting! do you see the parallel between ov-11 and yourself? you're both frustrated because for now you haven't managed to make this work. but you're both very close and i'm sure you’ll be successful soon! in the meanwhile, try to avoid shoving things around :-) and no, i've never seen an octopus behave like that. perhaps i should try to replicate it in my lab ;-) k.
Perhaps you should ;-) 愛 Stan
The experiment with OV-11 and the conversation with Kat had left me excited. I needed to clear my mind. I went into the lab that held the tank of ED-1, our specimen of E. dofleini. There was something relaxing about this lab. The lights were dim and the temperature was low to mimic a deep-sea habitat. ED-1 was barely visible, a motionless gray shadow at the far end of its tank, blending in with the environment almost perfectly. I thought about OV-11’s display of frustration and wondered what ED-1 was feeling right now. Was it bored? Was it scared? Was it content?
I approached the enormous tank. The lid was sealed with a heavy lock to prevent ED-1 from escaping, even though unlike the other octopuses it had never attempted to do so. A small opening allowed the caretakers to feed ED-1 and to do basic maintenance work, without having to take the lid off. On an impulse I climbed a ladder attached to the side of the tank. I leaned over the opening and put one arm in the water. It was cold, about 8°C.
― Hey Eddy. What’s up with you? You’re always so quietly curled up in your corner there. What are you thinking about?
ED-1 remained motionless. Faint colors seemed to ripple across its skin, but it was difficult to be sure in the dim light. I leaned in even further, pushing my arm deeper into the cold water, as if this would somehow connect me to ED-1’s mysterious mind.
I felt a soft touch on my neck. For a brief moment I thought it was Kat. That she was standing behind me, caressing me. But it was my key chain. It had slipped over my head and fallen into the tank, slowly sinking to the bottom.
― Fuck … Eddy, would you be so kind to hand me back my keys, please?
ED-1 remained motionless in its corner.
I would have to find a hook somewhere to fish out my key chain. But that could wait. I wanted to enjoy the tranquility of the lab a little while longer. I climbed down, sat down in a comfortable chair, and looked at the tank.
ED-1 came to life. It slowly moved towards the front of the tank. It reached out with a tentacle and picked up my key chain, which looked tiny in its massive suckers. Then it reached with the tip of the tentacle through the opening in the lid. I held my breath. Was it really trying to give me back my keys? I climbed back up the ladder and gently tried to take the key chain from its tentacle. But ED-1 did not let go. Instead, it curled its tentacle towards the lock on the lid. In slow, clumsy gestures, it tried each of my keys, one by one. I had about a dozen keys on my chain, one for every tank and cupboard in the various labs. ED-1 finally got to the key to its own tank, and turned it slowly. The lid came loose with a muted click. In apparent slow motion, with the patience of a deep-sea creature, ED-1 pushed the heavy lid open with two of its tentacles. For a while we looked at each other. Then a massive tentacle reached out to me. Its touch felt soft and wet and cold, like Katsumi’s body when she came out of the shower. Then it became firmer, as the tentacle wrapped around my arm. I heard a cracking sound as the bones in my upper arm broke under the immense pressure of the octopus’s grip. It lifted me into the air like a doll and carried me towards the cold water of the tank. Every lab was equipped with a camera to capture unexpected events. This kind of behavior had never been documented before. If Katsumi posted it on YouTube, it would be guaranteed to go viral and boost her career. ED-1 pulled me down until I was submerged in the cold water. My third-to-last thought was that Katsumi would finally become what she’d always wanted to be: the world’s most renowned expert on cephalopod cognition. My second-to-last thought was that she’d been that all along. Very slowly, ED-1 carried me towards its beak. My body burned like fire from the feeling of broken bones and ice-cold water. My last thought was of Katsumi’s warm body against mine.