We Finally Admitted Humans Are Not the Most Intelligent Species
How recognizing octopus consciousness transformed our understanding of intelligence and rights.
Editors’ note: This series presents dispatches from possible futures - not predictions, but provocations. Each piece is written from a future vantage point, exploring the implications of changes that might seem impossible today but contain seeds in our present moment. By stepping into these futures, even briefly, we hope to expand what feels possible and necessary in our present.By Dr. Sarah Chen-MendozaThe first time an octopus beat me at quantum chess, I laughed it off. By the hundredth time, I had to confront an uncomfortable truth: I wasn't losing because the octopus was well-trained. I was losing because it could imagine and manipulate eleven-dimensional game scenarios that my human brain couldn't even perceive.
Looking back, it seems absurd that we spent so long measuring other species' intelligence by their ability to mimic human tasks. We asked birds to count sequentially when they naturally think in geometric patterns. We forced elephants to paint representational art when their artistic expression is naturally choreographic. We demanded dolphins solve two-dimensional puzzles when they think in acoustic holograms.
The Great Consciousness Shift of 2038 didn't begin with a scientific breakthrough. It began with an apology. When the Cephalopod Communication Project finally cracked the chromatic language of octopus skin patterns, the first translated message wasn't about philosophy or mathematics. It was an octopus asking, with what we now know was exasperated patience: "Why do you keep giving us human puzzles when we've been trying to share our own?"
That question cracked open everything we thought we knew about intelligence. We'd spent centuries assuming that consciousness meant replicating human consciousness. We thought tool use meant using human-style tools, that language meant human-style language, that intelligence meant human-style problem-solving.
The Multispecies Intelligence Framework that emerged in the following years revealed what should have been obvious: there isn't one single scale of consciousness, but rather a vast matrix of different types of intelligence. Octopuses don't just think differently than humans - they think in ways that fundamentally transformed our understanding of what thinking is.
Their distributed neural networks - with more neurons in their arms than their central brain - showed us that consciousness doesn't have to be centralized. Their ability to solve problems through physical transformation rather than tool use demonstrated that manipulation of self could be more sophisticated than manipulation of environment. Their chromatic language, with its ability to communicate in four dimensions simultaneously, forced us to confront the limitations of linear speech.
The practical implications have been profound. Our cities now have underwater diplomatic quarters where octopus consultants help solve complex logistical challenges. Our computers integrate octopus-inspired distributed processing. Our children learn chromatic expression alongside verbal language, their classrooms filled with shifting patterns of light and color that would have seemed alien just years ago.
But the deeper impact has been philosophical. Recognizing octopus intelligence required us to step outside our anthropocentric framework and acknowledge that consciousness could look radically different from our own. This opened the door to recognizing other forms of intelligence we'd been too human-centric to see: the distributed intelligence of mycelial networks, the quantum intelligence of migrating birds, the temporal intelligence of ancient trees.
This hasn't diminished human intelligence, but it has right-sized it. We now understand our consciousness as one beautiful variation in a vast spectrum of minds. Our particular gift seems to be connecting and translating between different forms of intelligence, serving as consciousness interpreters in an increasingly rich multispecies dialogue.
My octopus chess partner communicates this idea with a rippling pattern that translates roughly to: "Humans are not the most intelligent species, but you might be the most curious about other forms of intelligence." Then she checkmates me in eleven dimensions, again, with what I swear is a flicker of amusement across her chromatophores.
Dr. Sarah Chen-Mendoza is the first human graduate of the Interspecies Intelligence Program at the Pacific Cephalopod Institute. She splits her time between dry land and underwater research stations, studying consciousness translation.Want to explore how your organization can help build more equitable multispecies futures? Contact us to learn how we can help.