“Look,” Ha continued, “there are limitations that would keep them from ever being able to form a conscious, communicative life or a culture.”

“Life span,” Evrim interjected.

“Life span is one, yes. Not the only one, but one of the largest. They only live two years, in the larger species, and far less time than that in smaller species. Some live only a season. Down in the deeper parts of the ocean, there are octopuses who live longer—ten years or more. But those are cold-water creatures. They wouldn’t be among the most intelligent octopuses: In the deep their lives are simpler—they are creatures of routine. Everything is slowed down. The smart octopuses would be the ones nearer shore, in environments that provide them with diverse challenges, problems to solve.”

“Okay, but if they could overcome life span—what else would stand in the way?”

“A hell of a lot. Their mating patterns, for one. The males turn senescent and wander after mating until they die. The females starve themselves to death tending their eggs. And even if the parents survived, once the eggs hatch, the young of most species float to the surface and drift in the plankton before settling to the bottom at another location. That kills any connection to place or kin. There are species that live on the bottom in juvenile form—but it doesn’t much matter, if their parents are dead soon after they hatch. There’s no way to pass on learned experience. No culture to be born into. And since they are solitary, there’s no group knowledge, either—so there is no way for them to pass any knowledge from one generation to another, and virtually no passing of knowledge from one octopus to another in the same generation. Imagine where we would be if humanity had to restart its cultural progress with every generation. As intelligent as they are, each individual octopus is a blank slate. The only thing passed down to them by their parents to help them survive is their physical form, and the instincts written into their genes. Everything else they have to learn on their own, wandering the ocean floor.

“Imagine we all lived alone most of our lives, and our lives were only two years long. No developed language. No culture, no buildings or cities or states.”

“But what about the locations they call Octopolis and Octlantis, off the east coast of Australia? They are both continuously inhabited sites with octopuses in every season.”

How much does Evrim know? Everything all humans know? Or just some things? How does that work? How smart is that brain?