Long ago, during the most brutal of winters, the animals of the forest struggled to survive. So harsh was the weather that each species was forced to huddle together for long hours to fend off the cold. Rabbits, deer, squirrels all benefitted from the shared warmth. Even the more solitary creatures, foxes and owls, disregarded their predispositions in order to survive. The porcupines had a particular dilemma. As they huddled together in the burrow, their spines poked and scraped each other with every breath and jostle. None were spared irritation. Eventually, constant barbs felt unbearable, and they ventured out into the frigid winter. Scattered and alone, some froze. The remaining porcupines, in their wisdom, chose to return to the burrow. Their quills had not dulled, the wounds they inflicted were no less painful, yet they huddled together even closer than before.
In his “porcupine’s dilemma”, 19th century philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer chose porcupines as a metaphor to describe a predicament in human interpersonal dynamics. Schopenhauer concluded that despite goodwill, human interaction cannot occur without substantial mutual harm. His solution, true to his pessimistic reputation, was for individuals to maintain emotional distance. However, even he recognized that this emotional distance results in feelings of isolation, as our longing for intimacy is inadequately satisfied. The metaphor was later adopted by Sigmund Freud, who was so taken by it, he kept a small bronze porcupine figurine on his desk. In fact, when asked about his highly-anticipated trip to America, Freud said, “I am going to the USA to catch sight of a wild porcupine and give some lectures.” The good doctor utilized the metaphor to describe the contradictory drives for intimacy and autonomy in a variety of applications. The porcupine’s defense mechanism complicates intimacy. So, it is with humans. We carefully fashion an image, tailored by the fear that others may know our struggles. We brush back attempts at intimate conversation with deft deflection or terse retort. We avoid the unfamiliar entirely, perhaps doubting the versatility of those well-practiced defenses. These behavioral patterns may become so thoroughly habituated as to seem immutable. We even come to be defined by our defenses: Conversation remains shallow with the image-conscious; people tiptoe around the angry person; the loner stops receiving invitations…While defense mechanisms were meant to protect, and perhaps did at one time, they often result in feeling more isolated, fearful, and at odds with the world.
Unlike the porcupine’s quills, our behaviors are dynamic. We learn from our experience and develop new repertoires to adapt to changing environments. But in order to adapt, we must assess what has and hasn’t been working:
Being mindful of one’s behaviors is the necessary first step: Getting to know your quills, if you will. After noticing the automated reactions, one is free to experiment with new, purposeful behaviors.
What are you really protecting? Intense emotions may feel uncomfortable to those that are used to repressing or avoiding them. But emotions are merely experiences designed to inform us about our environment. They are tools, not fragile organs that need protecting.
Defense mechanisms are designed to prevent harm, not meaningful relationships. Notice who has been on the receiving end. Take a risk and let someone past those defenses. Those sharp bristles may be repelling the wrong people.
Urges are merely suggestions, not commands. If you experience the impulse to withdraw from or repel an encounter, entertain alternative behaviors. Past behaviors need not determine present or future conduct. The truth is, our brains were designed for a time when interpersonal mistakes could be fatal. Being rejected from our tribe, or mistaking friend for foe were risks that carried the ultimate price. So, it is not surprising that we often overstate the impact of misplaced vulnerability. But as painful as emotional wounds can be, they are not fatal. And the reward for vulnerability is much more profound than physical warmth. Vulnerability enables growth, meaning, and connection.
