The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness

by Sy Montgomery

I’ve often had the feeling that the octopus I was watching was watching me back, with an interest as keen as my own.

Feelings of awe are known to expand the human experience of time availability. So does “flow,” the state of being fully immersed in focus, involvement, and enjoyment. Meditation and prayer, too, alter time perception.

Octopuses live fast and die young: Giant Pacific octopuses are probably among the longest-lived of the species, and they usually live only about three or four years.

Boston’s aquarium was one of the first in the nation to offer naturalistic settings for its animals. It was a visionary change—one that not only made its exhibits more educational for the public, but also made them far more interesting for its animal inmates.

“It takes a special person to understand what it means to have a friend who’s an octopus,” Anna told me. She imagined the conversation she might have with friends at school: “My friend died. Her name was Kali. ‘What is she, from India?’ No, she’s from British Columbia. The Pacific Ocean, actually. She’s an octopus.”

But I am certain of one thing as I sit in my pew: If I have a soul—and I think I do—an octopus has a soul, too.