The Octopus: A Parable

There once was an octopus that lived in a beautiful reef on the edge of the sea. He had eight perfect tentacles he could use to swim, and catch his food, and hold onto the rocks when the tide was strong so he wouldn’t be swept out into the dark, dangerous, deep waters.

The other creatures of the reef admired him. The fishes were in awe of how well he could blend in with his surroundings. The corals adored how dexterously and delicately he could investigate the things he found amidst the reef. And even the crabs were jealous of how strong he was, able to crack open oyster shells with ease.

The octopus lived many years happily as he was, as did his fellow reef-dwellers. They all benefited from his nature.

Then, one day, a terrible thing occurred.

The octopus was going about his business, finding small, beautiful things he had not met before. Suddenly, a riptide swooped about him, stronger and faster than could be imagined. The octopus managed to hold onto the reef floor, but a large rock shifted loose of its seating and landed heavily on one of the octopus’s tentacles.

Trapped and in pain, the octopus struggled and struggled against the prison of the rock, but to no avail. He could not shake loose of it, nor could the boulder be rolled off of his limb. In spite of the futility of his efforts, he continued to fight to extricate himself, until at last he ripped free from the crushing stone. But his tentacle was left behind.

Wounded, he slowly swam away from the rock. He found a cave, a small crevice in the reef’s short but cliff-like sides, into which he could squeeze, hiding away from all who might take advantage of his fragile state.

He lay in the cave for three days, waiting first for the bleeding to stop, and then for the healing to begin. All the while, he lamented the loss of his tentacle. That which he loved and knew well, and that in turn was loved by others of the reef for all that it could do, was taken from him seemingly forever. He wondered how different life would be with only seven tentacles.

After several long days, he sensed his body returning to health. He began to shift in his little cave to see if he could move without pain or exhaustion, and he did. He dared to exit his healing space, feeling perhaps he was ready to face the world in his new form.

And a new form it was indeed. He had not known that octopi had the ability to regrow lost limbs. Lo and behold, where his tentacle had been torn from his body, a tiny new tentacle was growing. And what was more, there was not just one tentacle, but two!

He marveled at this new addition. He tried to move it, and it obliged. It somehow seemed to be equal to his original tentacle, even though both were in their very earliest stages of regenerating.

In the days and weeks that followed, his new tentacles grew quickly and became strong. Although having a ninth limb took a great deal of practice, he came to realize it was an advantage. The other creatures of the reef took note of this, as well. In fact, a little flounder jested one day that it was a shame the octopus had not lost two tentacles to the boulder, as then he would have had an even ten.

At first, the octopus was a little disconcerted by this comment. Even some of the other reef dwellers were as taken aback as he. But something about the suggestion sat in the back of the octopus’s mind. In moments when his thoughts were unoccupied, he found himself considering what it would be like to have ten tentacles. His new extra tentacle was as wondrous as all his other tentacles. Wouldn’t a tenth be just as wondrous?

The idea grew larger and louder in his mind each day, until finally it was simply too pressing.

The octopus returned to the ledges of the reef, looking for loose rocks. Upon finding one, he made sure no other reef folk were around, then waited for the rip current. After an hour or two, the tide shifted, and, as he had secretly hoped, another loose boulder fell and pinned one of his tentacles, just as it had the first.

He endured the same horrible pain once more, pulling and struggling until finally his tentacle tore off. As he had before, he swam to his cave and hid for three days to heal. In those three days he worried his terrible work had been for naught, that his tentacle would be replaced simply by one new tentacle.

But when he emerged, he found he had sprouted two tiny new tentacles, just as he had the first time.

And once again, his new appendages grew strong and agile. He now had an even ten tentacles, and they were astounding. He could forage for more foods, investigate more things, lift more rocks and corals on his adventures. He found he could swim faster, and when the other reef creatures were in need of help, he could aid them more efficiently. They were grateful and lavished him with compliments about his wonderful ten tentacles.

In the face of these advantages he had gained and the glow of his neighbors’s praise, the octopus began to wonder what he could do with eleven tentacles, or twelve, or sixteen. Not to mention, he was feeling a little lopsided….

So the octopus continued to find the loose rocks amongst the reef wall, and wait for the rip tide, and lose another tentacle… and another… and another… and each time hide away in his cave to await the regrowth, and then emerge with another extra tentacle.

At first his abilities knew no bounds. With each added tentacle, he found some other way to feed himself or help his fellow reef dwellers. He discovered twice as many things on the reef floor in a day than he would have before. He was able to swim with fewer strokes of his limbs.

He had to admit, however, that by the time he removed and regrew his fifth tentacle his body was becoming a little weary. Nevertheless, he eventually removed and regrew a sixth tentacle.

Fourteen tentacles was a remarkable thing, to the octopus and to all his friends. But he began to notice that these tentacles simply weren’t as strong as the others. In fact, they all were becoming less strong. He noticed that his grip would slip, but it didn’t matter because another tentacle was holding on elsewhere. Eventually he started using two tentacles to hold objects that before would have only required one. Some things were very difficult to hang onto in this way; there simply wasn’t enough space for two tentacles, and the action became clumsy and often failed.

But still he removed a seventh.

Fifteen tentacles were a lot to carry around, and he became weighed down. It didn’t matter that he had so many tentacles to push him forward when he swam, because the drag was so great from having so many limbs. They were too numerous to gracefully bring together. He could no longer create the sleek, agile form he had had that cut so efficiently through the water.

But he still enjoyed just how many more things he was able to do with so many tentacles, even if he did them poorly. So he removed the eighth and final tentacle.

With sixteen tentacles, he became unable to swim, and instead slowly and awkwardly walked on his appendages. He found it near impossible to really know where all of his limbs were at once. He would knock corals off their anchoring rocks as he tried to avoid the anemone. He could not make the adjustment to his spatial awareness quickly enough for the sudden growth of his body.

He also struggled to find food, as much of it swam away long before he could hunt it, his form too obvious and slow, and his tentacles too uncoordinated to grab his prey in time. He could no longer open the oyster shells. His limbs were too weak on their own and the shells too small to grip with more than one tentacle.

So he starved… and in the process, slowly left a wake of damage throughout the reef.

There came an uproar from the reef dwellers, enraged at how he was destroying their homes. All the while, he countered their complaints with the argument that he was merely trying to help. But all the other reef creatures knew that he had grown greedy in his desire to do more and greater things. They pitied him for how in striving to do too much too fast he had begun to fail at everything.

They were very sad when the day came that the octopus was meandering through the reef and a strong tide went out. It took him by surprise, and lifted him off the reef floor. He tried to grab a rock to keep from floating away, but he couldn’t pick which tentacles to use quickly enough. What few tentacles did reach the rock were too weak to hold him fast. Before he knew it, the current swept him away in its unrelenting flow. It carried him up and up and out and out, and eventually he was adrift beyond the edge of the reef, lost to the darkness of the deep, empty ocean.

The reef dwellers never saw the octopus again. They knew this was the only way the octopus’s life could end, but they still lamented his loss, as he was their friend. They all wished he had lived his life content with the gift of only one extra tentacle.