14CHAPTER 10. BUSTING THE “SUNNY MYTH”: DATA VERSUS INTUITION

The most dangerous myth is the one everyone believes.

THE TANNING SALON CLINIC

Picture a patient from sunny Greece. He walks into the clinic, even though he lives just two hours’ drive from the sea, in a place where the sun shines roughly 2,900 hours a year. He has everything going for him: excellent living conditions, affordable health care, warm seas, and wonderful food. By every medical and practical measure, he shouldn’t be depressed.

Yet he appears gloomier than patients from Iceland or Norway, where sunlight barely lasts half the year. He complains that even when basking in the sun, he feels a weight inside. His body knows sunlight doesn’t illuminate the soul—and his soul aches for something else entirely.

“But why?” the patient wonders. “We’re always told that without light, people get sick. So does that mean I’m the problem?”

No. The problem isn’t just him. It lies in the belief system, in the culture, in the particular model of guilt and shame that forms the foundation of his society. This case from my practice is only one of thousands of examples showing how the intuitive assumption—“sun equals joy, sun equals life”—collides with actual statistics.

In this chapter, we’ll dismantle that myth—rigorously. No metaphors. Just facts, data, and analysis explaining why Europe’s sunniest countries can also be its most depressed. We’ll debunk the “sunlight myth” to uncover the true roots of psychological suffering.

10.1 THE MYTH’S ORIGINS: WHERE THE IDEA OF “SUNNY DEPRESSION” CAME FROM

The idea that sunlight affects mood does have a scientific basis. Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) is well documented: in winter, some people genuinely suffer from low energy and depression because reduced light leads to lower serotonin production. This mechanism is real and well studied.

Yet this kernel of truth spawned a far broader generalization: “If some people suffer in winter, then countries with less sunlight must have higher depression rates.” The logic sounds compelling—but it’s wrong.

The stereotype of the “depressed Scandinavian” dates back to 1960, when U.S. President Dwight Eisenhower made a remark to reporters that quickly became famous. Discussing the Nordic countries, he cited their “high suicide rates” as an argument against the welfare state. His message was transparent: wealth and government care make people miserable.

This claim was inaccurate then—as it is now—and even contemporary data contradicted it. But the image of gloom and tragic fates under northern skies became a persistent cultural trope, so widespread it felt like fact.

The stereotype stuck. The image of a Scandinavian suffering under “northern skies” persists to this day. But that’s precisely why we need to challenge it with fresh data.

10.2 THE DATA: WHAT’S REALLY GOING ON

Let’s look at the data honestly. But first: which metric should we use?

Depression is hard to measure. The numbers depend less on how many people are actually suffering than on how well developed a country’s mental health services are, and whether seeking professional help is even considered normal. In Iceland, people see a doctor at the first sign of low mood and walk away with a prescription—which is why the country leads the world in antidepressant use (around 11 percent of the population). In Japan or Korea, that same pain is often suffered in silence: seeing a psychiatrist carries deep shame. This creates a paradox. Where depression is treated openly, there is “more” of it in the statistics; where it is hidden, there is “less.” The depression rate tells us less about actual suffering than about a culture’s willingness to ask for help.

So let’s use a metric harder to hide behind stigma — suicide mortality. It’s also imperfect: death registration quality varies by country, and some suicides get recorded as accidents. But it’s the best cross-national indicator we have.

Here’s what WHO data reveals.

The highest suicide rates in the world aren’t found in polar darkness, but under a blazing sun. Lesotho has roughly 72 cases per 100,000 people, one of the highest figures on Earth; Guyana, Eswatini, and Kiribati — all tropical — sit near the top of the list. Now look at the sunny Mediterranean: Greece reports about 4 per 100,000, one of the lowest rates in Europe; Italy and Spain are just as low. Meanwhile, overcast Lithuania has held one of Europe’s highest rates for decades, while Norway, sitting at the same latitude and no less gloomy, has markedly lower numbers.

What can—and can’t—we legitimately conclude from these figures?

CORRELATION IS NOT CAUSATION: A crucial disclaimer, without which this chapter would have no right to exist. Just because sunny Lesotho suffers more than gloomy Norway does NOT mean that sunlight is harmful or that a “culture of guilt” is the sole cause. In Lesotho and Guyana, the numbers are driven by extreme poverty, unemployment, and—critically—the availability of means: in agrarian countries, this means pesticides, deadly and found in every household. In Lithuania and across the post-Soviet space, alcohol and the social upheaval of the 1990s play a significant role. In South Korea, it’s a unique mix: exam and work pressure plus the isolation of the elderly. Every country is an equation with many variables, and no single variable explains everything.

But these data do prove one thing rigorously—and that is enough for our book: latitude and hours of sunshine predict neither depression nor suicide. If the sun were the main factor, the map of mental suffering would mirror the map of cloud cover. It doesn’t, not even approximately. Instead, it tracks far more closely with maps of poverty, inequality, alcohol, stigma, and—as we will see in the next chapter—the cultural matrices of guilt and shame.

Climate is not to blame. If anything is “to blame”—assuming the word even applies here—it is how societies are built: how they distribute resources, how they treat vulnerability, and what they whisper to their members about mistakes and disgrace.

10.3 WHY GREECE IS MORE PRONE TO DEPRESSION THAN ICELAND: INITIAL EXPLANATIONS

To unravel this paradox, we must move beyond biological explanations and examine the cultural context.

THE GREEK PARADOX. During the debt crisis of 2010–2015, youth unemployment hit 60%. Pension savings were wiped out. Families that had lived comfortably fell into poverty within a matter of months.

But it wasn’t just about economics. Studies of Greek society during this period revealed a striking phenomenon: financial ruin was experienced as a moral failure rather than an economic circumstance.

“I couldn’t provide for my family” wasn’t a problem with employment. It was personal humiliation. “My country is in debt” wasn’t a political issue. It was national shame.

The Mediterranean culture of honor—the culture of timē—interpreted the economic crisis through the lens of personal and collective guilt. The result was a wave of depressive disorders, tragic outcomes, and psychosomatic illnesses tied not to unemployment itself, but to the cultural meaning attached to it.

CLINICAL OBSERVATION Greek psychiatric research (Economou et al., 2013) revealed: during Greece’s crisis, depression spiked disproportionately among groups where financial failure carried the heaviest cultural shame—middle-aged heads of households, entrepreneurs, and government workers. These were individuals whose identities were most tightly bound to success and “proper” familial roles. Depression didn’t rise where economic losses were greatest—it surged where losses were internalized as personal guilt.

10.4 Iceland: Why Less Sun Means Less Depression

Iceland is one of the northernmost inhabited islands on Earth. Polar nights. Between 1,100 and 1,300 hours of sunshine a year—fewer than most European countries. By any intuitive measure, it should be the prime candidate for the title of “most depressed country in the world.”

And here comes the first paradox: Iceland really does lead the world in antidepressant use, with about 11 percent of the population taking them. It seems to confirm the myth—less sun, more depression.

But look closer. Seasonal depression in Iceland is, oddly enough, among the lowest in the world. A study of more than two thousand Icelanders found an unexpectedly low prevalence, which the authors attributed to genetic protection and a traditionally high intake of fish—a rich source of omega-3s. There is even a study whose title says it all: “Daylight Is a Poor Predictor of Depression in Iceland.”

So where does that world-leading antidepressant use come from? Not from the darkness, but from openness. In Iceland, mental illness carries little stigma, psychological services are well developed, and people are in the habit of seeking help at the very first sign their spirits are sinking. Here, depression is identified and treated, not hidden.

That is why diagnosis and prescription rates tell us nothing about causes. Iceland’s high numbers don’t mean more suffering; they mean more honesty with oneself and easier access to help. In Japan or Korea, people carry the same pain in silence—and so their depression statistics look lower, even though their suicide rates are far higher.

Remember this rule: depression rates measure help-seeking culture, not actual prevalence. That’s why the only honest way to compare countries is through suicide statistics—they’re harder to conceal behind stigma.

10.5 THE GLOBAL RISE OF DEPRESSION: 35 YEARS OF GROWTH

Now let’s look at how things have changed over time. If the sunlight myth were true, we would expect depression rates to stay flat: climate doesn’t shift that fast. In reality, something fundamentally different is happening.

Year

Number of people with depression

Proportion of adults

Increase since 1990

1990

~200 million

~3.0%

baseline year

2000

~230 million

~3.2%

+15%

2010

~260 million

~3.5%

+30%

2019

~280 million

~3.8%

+40%

2021 (COVID)

~300 million

~4.5%

+50%

These numbers are among the most alarming in modern epidemiology. Over three decades, the number of people with depression grew roughly 50 percent faster than the world’s population. Genetics doesn’t change in thirty years. The climate changes more slowly. That means the bulk of this increase comes down to psychological and social factors—how our lives have changed, not how our brains are wired.

This fits neatly with the book’s central idea: the pandemic of self-denigration is a product of culture, not biology. It fits—but it doesn’t “prove it once and for all.” Honest science avoids that kind of language, and so will we.

10.6 CORRELATIONAL ANALYSIS: WHAT ACTUALLY PREDICTS DEPRESSION

If not sunlight, then what? Systematic cross-national studies allow us to rank the predictors of depression by how strongly they correlate with real-world data.

Factor

Type

Strength of association with depression

Key study

Hours of sunshine

Biol.

Weak / negative

GBD 2021, meta-analyses

Vitamin D deficiency

Biol.

Moderate (~10% of variance)

Anglin et al., 2013

Genetic predisposition

Biol.

Moderate (35⁠–⁠40%)

GWAS meta-analyses

Economic inequality (Gini)

Soc.

Strong

Pickett & Wilkinson, 2009

Shame culture / vertical collectivism

Cult.

Strong

Frontiers in Sociology, 2023

Stigmatization of mental disorders

Soc.

Very strong

WHO, 2024

Sleep disturbance (less than 7 hours)

Biol./soc.

Strong (bidirectional)

Walker, 2017

Social isolation / loneliness

Soc.

Very strong

Holt-Lunstad et al., 2015

The picture is clear: biological factors matter, but they account for only part of the variation. Cultural and social factors—especially stigma, inequality, shame cultures, and social isolation—are far stronger predictors of a society’s depression rates.

10.7 STIGMATIZATION AS A MULTIPLIER: HIDDEN DEPRESSION

One factor most often overlooked in cross-country comparisons is the difference in detection rates. A country’s measured depression rate isn’t the actual rate; it’s the rate of recorded cases. And recording depends on whether people seek help. That, in turn, depends on cultural attitudes toward mental illness.

WHO data (2024) shows that in low- and middle-income countries, 76–85% of people with mental disorders receive no treatment whatsoever. In many cultures, mental illness carries the same stigma as physical deformity or a criminal record. Being labeled a “psycho” is a social death sentence avoided at all costs—through symptom denial, self-isolation, and, in extreme cases, tragic outcomes deemed “more acceptable” than consulting a psychiatrist.

In his book Combating Cult Mind Control, Steven Hassan observed: “The most effective way to enslave a person is to make them think they are free.” Stigma works the same way: it makes people believe they are to blame for their own suffering and blinds them to the social roots of the problem.

“Stigma is one of the most significant barriers to treatment for mental disorders. People who fear judgment do not seek help. As a result, their condition deteriorates, and their suffering grows in silence.”

— WHO, World Mental Health Report, 2022

What this means is that countries with high levels of stigma are likely to report less depression—not because there is less of it, but because people hide it. The real picture is far bleaker than official statistics suggest.

This is why Japan’s official statistics in our table show only 3% depression, while the suicide rate stands at 15.3 per 100,000 people. This discrepancy itself is telling: a vast portion of depression cases remain hidden, undocumented, untreated—and manifest not in psychiatric referrals but in mortality statistics.

10.8 VITAMIN D: WHAT ACTUALLY WORKS — AND THE LIMITS OF ITS EXPLANATORY POWER

Before dismissing biological explanations entirely, we should acknowledge the truth they do contain.

Vitamin D deficiency — the result of too little ultraviolet light — really is linked to depression. A meta-analysis by Anglin and colleagues (2013), covering 14 studies and more than 31,000 participants, found a statistically significant negative correlation between vitamin D levels and depression.

The mechanism makes sense: vitamin D is involved in serotonin synthesis and immune regulation, both pathways implicated in depression. Clinical trials of vitamin D supplements show a modest antidepressant effect in people who are genuinely deficient.

But—and this is crucial—vitamin D accounts for only about 10% of depression’s variance. The remaining 90% stems from other factors. While real, its role is secondary in the bigger picture.

A similar pattern applies to light therapy. It’s undeniably effective: first-line treatment for seasonal depression—and recent meta-analyses (JAMA Psychiatry, 2024) confirm benefits even for non-seasonal cases. But lamps don’t work by replacing “lost sunlight”—they correct disrupted circadian rhythms.

Every brain has an inner clock—a tiny cluster of about twenty thousand cells called the suprachiasmatic nucleus. Specialized retinal cells detect bright morning light and send this clock a signal: “It’s morning, time to wake up.” Light is the most powerful regulator of our biological rhythm—it suppresses melatonin, activates serotonin, and shifts our circadian phase. Depression almost always marches in lockstep with a disrupted clock: you fall asleep at dawn, wake up exhausted, and your mood drags along for the ride. What throws this clock off? Screens, artificial light, and irregular sleep—whether you’re in sun-drenched Greece or gloomy Iceland. That’s why light therapy works everywhere—it doesn’t replace missing sunlight; it resets the broken mechanism.

This biological clock is life’s oldest invention, shared by all living things regardless of brain structure. Ours is centralized in one node; an octopus has no “master clock”—its distributed, almost alien brain keeps time differently, but keeps it nonetheless. From humans to octopuses, all life aligns its rhythm to one universal signal: light.

And here we arrive at the same conclusion as with vitamin D. Light offers relief at the level of symptoms: more energy, steadier sleep, a brighter mood. But it does nothing to touch the guilt, shame, and pressure that knocked the clock off in the first place. As long as the root remains intact, it will keep throwing the hands out of alignment again and again. The cause isn’t sunlight or latitude. The cause is a rhythm broken not by nature, but by how we live and what we carry inside us.

PRACTICAL TAKEAWAY FOR THE CLINICIAN Vitamin D deficiency in clients with depression is a real clinical issue that deserves attention. A 25(OH)D blood test is recommended during the initial assessment of depressive disorders. When a significant deficiency is present, correcting it should be part of comprehensive treatment. But this is an adjunct to psychotherapeutic work, not a substitute for it. No patient has ever recovered from depression on vitamin D alone—not when the source of the depression is chronic guilt and self-criticism.

10.9 WHY DEBUNKING THIS MYTH MATTERS SO MUCH

Why is debunking the “sunlight myth” so crucial? At first glance, it might seem like a niche academic debate about the nature of depression. But the stakes are far higher.

The first implication: public health policy. If depression is primarily a biological problem, then the solution is pharmacology and climate therapy. If it is primarily a cultural and psychological problem, the solution involves changing cultural norms, reducing stigma, and rethinking how we raise children and run our schools. Misdiagnose the cause, and you prescribe the wrong treatment.

Second implication: individual therapy. A client who believes their depression stems from “biology,” “genes,” or “lack of sunlight” assumes it’s unchangeable. One who recognizes depression’s ties to cultural patterns of self-criticism and guilt sees pathways for transformation. How we attribute causes shapes therapeutic hope.

The third implication: stigma. Framing depression as biology reduces one kind of stigma (“you’re weak if you’re depressed”) but can amplify another (“your brain is broken, and always will be”). A psychological framing — when handled well — opens a path to change without self-stigma.

“We can’t fix what we don’t understand. As long as we blame depression’s pandemic on climate and genetics, we’re looking in the wrong direction. The evidence is clear: look to culture, to upbringing systems, to the machinery of shame and guilt.”

— Synthesizing positions from WHO (2022) and Frontiers in Sociology (2023)

10.10 BRIDGING THE GAP: FROM MYTH TO MECHANISM

We have dismantled the myth, and now we face a question: if it isn’t the sun, what exactly is it within cultural matrices of guilt that exerts such an influence on mental health?

The next four chapters of Part Two answer this question step by step, with increasing detail. Chapter 11 examines specific cultural matrices—Japan, Korea, Scandinavia—and shows how different systems of guilt and shame produce different psychological consequences. We already explored the individual level—the mechanism of self-criticism—in Chapter 4. And we saw the psychosomatic consequences in Chapter 3.

Together, they form a complete picture of what happens when a guilt system shifts from fostering growth and repair to fueling self-destruction.

CHAPTER SUMMARY

The myth has been debunked. A nation’s psychological suffering is not determined by the amount of sunlight. The sunniest countries in the world—Lesotho and Guyana—hold the global record for suicides, while sunny Greece has one of the lowest rates in Europe. Overcast Lithuania, on the other hand, ranks among the highest. Sunlight and latitude predict nothing.

The metric. The only honest comparison is suicide rates, not depression diagnoses: diagnosis numbers depend on stigma and access to mental health care. Where depression is treated openly, it shows up “more” in the statistics. Suicide is much harder to hide.

Predictors. A culture of shame, inequality, the breakdown of community, and stigma predict outcomes better than any biological factor.

Light and vitamin D. They play a role, but explain only a small part of the picture. Light therapy is a proven treatment for seasonal depression and useful as an adjunct for regular depression (JAMA Psychiatry, 2024). However, just because a lamp helps doesn’t mean the illness is caused by a lack of light: aspirin relieves pain, but pain isn’t caused by an aspirin deficiency. Light alleviates symptoms—but doesn’t address the root: guilt, shame, and pressure. It’s a crutch, not a cure for the cause.

The takeaway. Look for the causes in culture, upbringing, and systems of guilt.

The climate isn’t to blame—the structure of our societies and cultural matrices is.

Next step—Chapter 11: cultural matrices of guilt, a global overview.