Self-control is a typically masculine ideal, to be achieved by the repression of feeling. Feeling is a specifically feminine virtue, and because a man in trying to attain his ideal of manhood represses all feminine traits-which are really part of him, just as masculine traits are part of a woman's psychology-he also represses certain emotions as womanish weakness. In so doing he piles up effeminacy or sentimentality in the unconscious, and this, when it breaks out, betrays in him the existence of a feminine being. As we know, it is just the "he-men" who are most at the mercy of their feminine feelings. This might explain the very much greater number of suicides among men, and, conversely, the extraordinary strength and toughness often developed by very feminine women. If we carefully examine the uncontrolled emotions of a man and try to reconstruct the probable personality underlying them, we soon arrive at a feminine figure which I call, as I said, the anima. On the same ground the ancients conceived of a feminine soul, a "psyche" or "anima," and not without good psychological reasons did the ecclesiastics of the Middle Ages propound the question, Habet mulier animam?
— Carl Gustav Jung
Jung is not simply defending feeling here — he is tracing the cost of a particular masculine ideal that has structured Western inner life for centuries. The aspiration toward self-control, toward a composed and unshaken inner surface, is not neutral. It imports a hierarchy: emotion on one side, reason on the other, and the stakes of that hierarchy borne disproportionately by men who have agreed to disappear into its upper term. What gets repressed does not dissolve. It accumulates, and when it finally moves it moves without any of the refinement that conscious relationship to feeling would have given it — raw, disproportionate, humiliating to the man who prided himself on being unmoved.
The statistic Jung reaches for — male suicide rates — is not rhetorical flourish. It points to where the logic bottoms out. The man who has built an identity on not-feeling discovers that feeling does not negotiate with identity. And the medieval question he closes with — *does a woman have a soul?* — carries the same logic in reverse: if the soul is feminine, and femininity is what men are organized to refuse, then the cost of that refusal is the soul itself. That question, posed as theology, was really psychology. The ecclesiastics were asking, without knowing it, what happens to a man who achieves the ideal.
Carl Gustav Jung·Civilization in Transition·1964