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In Chinese philosophy, yin and yang represent complementary forces. Yin, often linked with the feminine, is receptive, inward, intuitive, and fluid. Yang, the masculine counterpart, is active, outward, structured, and bold. Neither is “better” than the other — balance is the point.

Our culture has slipped into imbalance. Instead of valuing both masculine (yang) and feminine (yin) traits, we treat yang traits in men as problems to be corrected while elevating yin traits as the moral ideal. This creates an environment where boys and men are shamed for expressing natural masculine tendencies, while the feminine is glorified as “healthier,” “safer,” or “more evolved.” To make matters worse, men are framed as the problem—legitimizing attacks against them—while women and girls are cast as victims, granting them cultural permission to adopt masculine traits. Boys watch in bewilderment as this double standard unfolds: masculinity is shamed in men but praised in women, and women are celebrated for both yin and yang traits. It defies logic, yet nearly every cultural institution reinforces it. We are living in a truly unbalanced world.

Let’s look at seven primary yang characteristics and how they’ve been discouraged in men.

 

1. Active / Initiating

Yang energy moves forward, takes initiative, acts rather than waits. In boys, this shows up as physical play, restless energy, and risk-taking curiosity.

In schools, this natural boyish energy is often punished. Boys who get up, explore, or speak out are labeled “disruptive.” Increasingly, they’re medicated for ADHD — not because they’re sick, but because they don’t fit a classroom model designed for quiet compliance.

At the same time, receptivity and patience — yin traits — are praised. The quiet child is “well-behaved.” Girls who sit still are called “model students.” Boys learn quickly: initiative will get you in trouble, while passivity earns approval. Yet in a striking double standard, as boys are shamed for their energy, girls are increasingly praised for showing initiative and taking risks.

2. Rational / Analytical

Masculine energy emphasizes clarity and reason. But in relationships and therapy, men who rely on logic are accused of being “emotionally unavailable.” A husband who responds to conflict with analysis rather than emotional validation is told he’s “cold.”

Media reinforces this, portraying rational men as out of touch. Think of the sitcom father who is clueless and insensitive until the emotional wife rescues him with her intuition. Logic in men becomes something to mock or pathologize.

Meanwhile, intuition and emotional fluency are praised as “true intelligence.” Schools teach “emotional literacy” — overwhelmingly in a feminine key — while men’s rational approaches are sidelined. Yet here again, the double standard is obvious: when girls show clarity and reason, they are celebrated as strong and capable, while boys are criticized for the very same trait.

3. Independent / Self-Directed

Yang independence is about autonomy and leadership. In the past, this was recognized as a virtue. Today, independence in men is recast as selfishness.

In therapy, men who assert boundaries are accused of being avoidant. In family courts, fathers who resist intrusive parenting mandates are painted as uncooperative. At work, men who prefer autonomy are accused of “not being team players.”

Meanwhile, collectivist ideals are glorified. “Community,” “collaboration,” and “consensus” are treated as moral goods. The man who pursues his own vision is suspect; the man who dissolves into the group is praised. Yet when women insist on autonomy or self-direction, they are celebrated as “empowered” and “breaking barriers.” The very trait condemned in men is rewarded in women.

4. Expressive / Outward-Projecting

Yang expression is about projecting energy outward — speaking with authority, asserting oneself, showing presence. Today, this is routinely shamed. Men are accused of “mansplaining” when they speak confidently, of “taking up too much space” when they sit or stand naturally. Even in classrooms, boys who speak out are silenced while girls are coaxed to speak more.

Corporate trainings echo the same script: men must “step back” and “make space.” Male outwardness is recast as oppressive, while passivity and listening — yin traits — are presented as the moral high ground. Yet when women speak forcefully or take command of space, they are praised as bold and inspiring. The same assertiveness that earns men censure wins women applause.

5. Confident / Bold

Confidence, a core yang quality, is easily rebranded as arrogance or entitlement. A young man who asserts himself risks being accused of “toxic masculinity.” Ambition is reframed as greed or patriarchal privilege.

In education, boys who compete hard are told to “tone it down.” In dating, confidence is increasingly viewed with suspicion. A man approaching a woman boldly risks being labeled a predator, while tentativeness is reframed as “respect.”

Meanwhile, vulnerability has been rebranded as the new courage. Being hesitant, emotionally raw, or self-doubting is celebrated — but only when men embody it. Boldness is shamed; vulnerability is glorified. And once again, the double standard is clear: when women display confidence and ambition, they are praised as trailblazers and role models. What is condemned in men is applauded in women.

6. Competitive / Striving

Competition once fueled innovation, excellence, and mastery. For boys, striving to test themselves against others was natural.

Today, competition is under attack. Schools downplay winning, cancel scores, and hand out participation trophies. Boys are told that striving to be the best is unfair or mean-spirited. Even in workplaces, ambition is framed as “cutthroat.”

Meanwhile, cooperation is praised as the higher moral good. Equality of outcome — not excellence — is celebrated. The yin trait of blending in is exalted over the yang drive to stand out. And yet, when girls and women show drive, ambition, and competitiveness, they are praised as strong, empowered, and fearless. The very striving that earns boys censure is reframed as heroic when displayed by girls.

7. Stable / Structured

Yang energy provides order and discipline. Fathers setting boundaries, men building institutions, coaches demanding discipline — all are examples of stabilizing structure.

Yet structure is often demonized. Discipline is rebranded as control. Fathers who insist on rules are called authoritarian, while mothers who allow flexibility are celebrated as “nurturing.” In broader culture, structure is portrayed as oppression, while fluidity and openness are presented as progressive ideals.

And here too the double standard is unmistakable: when women take charge, enforce rules, or demand order, they are praised as strong leaders and role models. But when men do the very same thing, they are criticized as rigid, controlling, or oppressive. The masculine contribution of structure is vilified in men while valorized in women.

The “Male Privilege” Narrative

Layered on top of this shaming is the constant accusation of male privilege. Men are told they benefit from invisible advantages that invalidate their struggles. The boy disciplined in school for his energy is “privileged.” The man told his logic is cold is “privileged.” The father stripped of custody in court is “privileged.”

This accusation functions as a silencing tactic: no matter what hardships men face, their yang traits are delegitimized by the claim that they come from an unfair advantage. It’s a clever inversion — turning natural masculine expressions into proof of oppression.

For boys, the effect is especially disorienting. They are punished and shamed for their natural energy, independence, or boldness, yet they watch those same qualities praised in girls as “empowerment.” Imagine growing up in that atmosphere — told that what comes naturally to you is toxic, while applauded when someone else displays it. It creates confusion, self-doubt, and a sense of injustice that borders on madness. Boys learn not just that they are wrong, but that their very strengths are only acceptable when embodied by someone else.

 

When Yin Is Glorified and Yang Is Shamed

Chinese philosophy has a very straightforward warning: when yin and yang fall out of balance, decay follows. Illness in the body, discord in relationships, collapse in societies — all are traced to one side being exalted while the other is suppressed.

Today, our culture is caught in just such an imbalance. Feminine (yin) traits — receptivity, emotion, flexibility — are not only praised, they are presented as the gold standard for everyone. Masculine (yang) traits — activity, logic, independence, boldness, competition, structure — are not only discouraged, they are actively shamed.

From the Chinese perspective, this is a recipe for trouble. Here’s what they would say is coming:

• Stagnation and Weakness: Too much yin creates passivity. Boys withdraw, men retreat, societies lose resilience.

• Anxiety and Discord: Suppressed yang resurfaces in distorted ways — aggression, violence, self-destruction.

• Collapse of Natural Order: Institutions weaken when initiative, structure, and clarity are attacked. Families fracture, schools falter, social trust declines.

• Loss of Wholeness: When one side is glorified and the other shamed, the creative power of balance disappears. Everyone loses.

Restoring the Missing Balance

Chinese wisdom is blunt: when yin and yang fall out of balance, decline is inevitable. Our culture has tipped hard toward yin, glorifying receptivity, vulnerability, and fluidity while shaming activity, confidence, and structure. We are out of balance.

And balance will not return by doubling down on yin or by continuing to accuse men of “privilege” whenever they show their natural strengths. The way forward is to restore respect for yang.

That means honoring boys’ energy instead of medicating it away. Valuing men’s rational clarity instead of mocking it as cold. Praising independence and confidence in men just as we do in women. Allowing competition and striving to be celebrated, not shamed. And recognizing that discipline and structure are not oppression, but foundations for growth.

Revaluing the masculine does not mean dismissing the feminine. It means returning to the truth the Chinese saw thousands of years ago: life flourishes only when yin and yang stand side by side, each strong, each respected, each essential.

If we continue to shame one half of the human equation, we invite stagnation, confusion, and collapse. But if we restore balance, we give our sons — and our daughters — the gift of wholeness.

​Men Are Good. So is Yang.

Finland’s Legacy — Lessons for the World

Post 3 in a series on what the world can learn from Finland’s suicide prevention efforts

In the first two posts of this series, we traced Finland’s extraordinary journey: from confronting its suicide crisis head-on with unprecedented research, to building a nationwide prevention strategy that saved lives and changed culture. (plus an intro post)

By the mid-1990s, the results were visible. Suicide rates, which had climbed for decades, had finally begun to fall. Hunters were talking to their mates about mental health. Army officers were watching out for vulnerable conscripts. Teachers, clergy, and even journalists had taken on new roles in prevention.

But Finland didn’t stop there. They did something few governments ever do: they invited outsiders in to judge their work.

The External Evaluation (1999)

In 1999, an international team of experts released their assessment of Finland’s National Suicide Prevention Project. Their job was not to pat Finland on the back, but to weigh the evidence: had the ten-year gamble worked?

The answer was a resounding yes.

The reviewers noted that suicide rates had fallen by about 20% from their 1990 peak, reversing what had seemed an unstoppable upward trend. They praised Finland’s creativity and breadth: more than 40 subprogrammes, dozens of guidebooks and training manuals, and a public conversation that no longer treated suicide as taboo.

They were candid about shortcomings. The elderly had been largely overlooked. Firearm restrictions — an obvious lever in a country where hunting rifles were common — had not been seriously addressed. And some of the project’s ideas had not been fully anchored in municipal governments, raising questions about long-term sustainability.

But the overall conclusion was clear: “The achievements of the project greatly outweighed its shortcomings.”

For the first time in history, a country had launched a research-based, nationwide suicide prevention program, implemented it across society, and then subjected it to systematic internal and external evaluation. Finland hadn’t just lowered its suicide rate. It had created a model the rest of the world could learn from.

The Nordic Ripple Effect

Finland may have been the first to take suicide prevention to this scale, but it didn’t remain alone for long. Its bold experiment caught the attention of its Nordic neighbors.

By the early 2000s, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and Iceland had all developed their own national suicide prevention strategies. Each looked different, shaped by local politics and culture, but the family resemblance was clear:

• Multisectoral involvement — bringing schools, healthcare, media, and workplaces into the effort.

• Government backing — strategies tied to official health policy, not just isolated projects.

• Focus on high-risk groups — men, youth, those with mental illness or substance use issues.

• Community-level adaptation — prevention designed to fit local contexts.

This Nordic wave turned suicide prevention from a fringe idea into a mainstream policy goal. Finland’s willingness to declare suicide a preventable public health problem gave other countries the courage to do the same.

And while no nation copied Finland exactly, the influence was unmistakable. What began as one country’s desperate attempt to save its men became a regional movement — and, eventually, part of a global shift in how we think about suicide.

Beyond Suicide — Open Dialogue

While the National Suicide Prevention Project was reshaping public health, another Finnish innovation was quietly revolutionizing psychiatric care. It was called Open Dialogue, and it began in the remote region of Western Lapland in the 1980s.

Open Dialogue grew out of the same spirit that drove Finland’s suicide work: the belief that mental health crises should be faced directly, in context, with honesty and community. Instead of isolating patients in institutions, Open Dialogue brought treatment into their living rooms, with their families and friends present.

Its core principles were deceptively simple:

• Immediate response — no long waits for care.

• Include the social network — every meeting included family and close supporters.

• Transparency — no secret discussions; all decisions were made in front of the patient.

• Continuity — the same care team stayed with the person throughout.

The results were extraordinary. In Western Lapland, outcomes for psychosis — one of the most severe and stigmatized mental health conditions — improved dramatically. Hospitalization rates plummeted. Long-term disability dropped. Many people recovered fully, without lifelong medication. And suicide risk, so often bound up with psychotic crises, declined as well.

Open Dialogue was not designed as a suicide prevention program, but it turned out to be one. By treating people with dignity, involving their communities, and responding quickly in moments of despair, it reduced the very conditions that so often lead to suicide.

Over the years, Open Dialogue spread far beyond Finland. Today, it has inspired projects in 20+ countries, from the UK and Denmark to Italy, Australia, and the United States. In Boston and Atlanta, pilot trials are exploring how it might transform American mental health care.

If Finland’s suicide prevention project showed how to mobilize whole societies, Open Dialogue showed how to humanize psychiatric care. Together, they represented a double legacy: a country rethinking both the prevention of suicide and the treatment of mental illness itself.

The Contrast with the United States

Set Finland’s story alongside that of the United States, and the difference is almost painful to see.

In Finland, suicide was treated as a national emergency. The government gathered data on every case, identified high-risk groups, and then designed interventions that met people where they were — in hunting clubs, army barracks, schools, and village churches. Prevention became everyone’s business: teachers, clergy, journalists, even hunters were mobilized. Men were not ignored; they were named as a priority.

In the United States, by contrast, suicide prevention remains fragmented and underfunded. National data are often shallow, slow, and rarely translated into targeted local strategies. Middle-aged men in rural areas — the group most likely to die by suicide — are treated as a tragic inevitability rather than a challenge to be solved. The refrain is familiar: “men won’t seek help.” And then the conversation stops.

Where Finland built systems that carried help into the everyday lives of men, the U.S. still waits for men to find their way into psychiatric clinics — a threshold many will never cross. Instead of designing support around real lives and communities, America has largely outsourced suicide prevention to crisis hotlines and awareness slogans.

The contrast is not just policy. It is philosophy. Finland chose to look directly at suicide, however uncomfortable, and act with precision. The U.S. continues to look away, resigned to the loss of tens of thousands of men each year.

What the World Can Learn Today

Finland’s story carries a message the world can no longer afford to ignore: suicide is not inevitable. It responds to culture, to policy, and to whether a society is willing to face hard truths.

The lessons are clear:

1. Do the research. Prevention begins with knowing who is dying, where, and why. Finland’s psychological autopsy study remains a gold standard for how to understand suicide in context.

2. Tailor interventions. Generic slogans don’t save lives. Finland designed specific responses for hunters, soldiers, farmers, drinkers, and suicide attempters.

3. Use whole communities. Suicide prevention is not just for psychiatrists. Teachers, clergy, journalists, co-workers, and peers can all play a role.

4. Address men directly. Male suicide is not an afterthought; it is central. Finland dared to say so, and designed interventions with men in mind.

5. Sustain the effort. Short-term projects can spark change, but long-term structures anchor it. That remains one of Finland’s unfinished tasks — and one of the biggest lessons for others.

For the United States — and for every country still wringing its hands over “men not seeking help” — Finland offers a blueprint. You don’t wait for men to come to you. You go to them. Into their workplaces, their social clubs, their barracks, their communities. You make prevention part of everyday life.

Finland’s achievement wasn’t only lowering its suicide rate by 20% in a decade. It was proving, for the first time, that suicide is a preventable public health problem. And that societies willing to look directly at despair can bend the curve of death.

That is Finland’s legacy. And it is a challenge to all of us: if a small country on the edge of Europe could do it, what excuse do we have not to try?

Men Are Good

Update: Dr. Partonen sent me the latest figures for male suicides in Finland, showing that the rates for men were 52.6 per 100,000 in 1990 and had dropped to 20.3 by 2023 — a stunning 61% decrease.