Darren Kelsey (Auth.) - Media and Affective Mythologies - Discourse, Archetypes and Ideology in Contemporary Politics (2017, Palgrave Macmillan)

Media and
Affective Mythologies
Discourse, Archetypes and Ideology
in Contemporary Politics
Darren Kelsey
Media and Affective Mythologies
Darren Kelsey
Media and Affective

Mythologies
Discourse, Archetypes and Ideology
in Contemporary Politics
Darren Kelsey
School of Arts and Cultures
Newcastle University
Newcastle Upon Tyne
UK
ISBN 978-3-319-60758-0 ISBN 978-3-319-60759-7 (eBook)

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-60759-7
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For Monica and Daisy
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There are certain people who I have always thanked throughout my career
and will continue to do so because I must never forget the support and
opportunities they gave me academically. Those people are Rob Stanley
from my college days, followed by Paul Mason and Justin Lewis who
supported me at Cardiff University throughout my journey from BA to
Ph.D. Further thanks to John Jewell, Bob Franklin, and Karin Wahl-
Jorgensen for their shared interests and input in my research. I always value
the priceless insights and critiques I receive from those former colleagues
for whom I have enormous respect.
I would also like to thank my current colleagues at Newcastle
University, particularly in Media, Culture, Heritage (MCH), who I have
the pleasure of leading as Head of Section. It is truly inspiring to work in
such a vibrant and positive research and teaching environment with so
many world-class scholars. I must specifically thank Katy McDonald,
Gareth Longstaff, Rhiannon Mason, and Karen Ross for their recent sup-
port, which has given me the research time and space to finish this project.
Our students in MCH are fantastic. It is a pleasure to deliver
research-led teaching to such talented and enthusiastic minds with great
prospects. I must take this opportunity to thank all of my students who
have taken my module (MCH2035) on media and mythology. Sharing and
developing ideas from this project with students from that module was a
wonderful and inspiring teaching experience, and I thoroughly look for-
ward to delivering this module again in future. The input, engagement,
and critique I receive from students provides me with enormous hope for
the future, with many bright young talents moving into professions,
vii
viii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
careers, industries, and positions that will make a significant contribution to

society. Academics must never forget what a privilege it is to teach and
share our research with students.
Within the multiple academic disciplines that my research is connected
to, I have been fortunate to work with scholars in the field of critical
discourse studies (CDS). I take this opportunity to acknowledge the
vibrancy and energy of those who work within the field of CDS. The
welcoming and supportive attitude of distinguished scholars in this field has
created a research culture of interdisciplinarity that continues to grow and
inspire. Particular thanks goes to John Richardson, Christopher Hart, and
Majid KhosraviNik for their ongoing support. Thanks to all members
of the Critical Discourse Group and the ongoing support it receives from
Newcastle University.
From other areas of research, I also appreciate the support of colleague
James Ash and former colleague Carolyn Pedwell who provided valuable
insights to affect theory and perspectives from cultural geography, which I
was unfamiliar with prior to this project. Many thanks to Ben Lamb and his
research groups at Teesside University, where I have shared case studies
from this book and received priceless feedback. May I also thank Tom
Hewitt for our endless and extensive political and theoretical conversations,
many of which have been valuable for this book. I wish Tom all the best in
his Ph.D. studies, which he has pursued after a long and admirable career in
the Metropolitan Police. Tom is an excellent researcher with a great mind.
I thank all of my family and friends who have supported me throughout
this project. I do not see my Guildford, London, or Cardiff friends enough
but I know they are always there—just one attention seeking click away on
Facebook, which I know they appreciate. I would like to thank my friends
at the Barley Mow Club. Firstly, I thank them for their kindness when I
moved to the North East and didn’t know anyone or have anywhere to go
for a “relaxing” pint. Secondly, I would like to thank those who take the
time to talk to me about my research and pay a genuine interest through
the energetic conversations we often have about politics.
My parents and nan deserve a special acknowledgement for their
unconditional support. I also thank my brother and his gorgeous family for
all their laughs and smiles. I am proud of my brother for his ongoing
achievements and continual determination in life. He is a role model as a
dad and a brilliant person.
Finally, and most importantly, I thank my wife. I will say exactly what I
said in my previous book’s acknowledgements: Monica’s love, kindness,
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ix
empathy, patience, loyalty, and generosity are qualities that I admire.

Monica is a fantastic mum and that is why I dedicate this book to her and
our beautiful daughter, Daisy. Once Daisy can talk, I will need to ask her
why the mythology of Peppa Pig plays such an affective role in her life.
CONTENTS
1 Why Study Mythology and How is it Affective? 1
2 Affective Apparatus: Collective Unconscious,

Archetypes and the Transpersonal 27
3 Hero’s Journey: Nigel Farage, the EU and Brexit 53
4 The City Trickster: Bankers, Moral Tales, and

Contemporary Capitalism 81
5 Children, Shadows, and Scapegoats: The Child Abuse

Scandals of Rotherham Council and Jimmy Savile 107
6 Spiritual Revolution: The Affective Mythology

of Russell Brand 125
7 Affective Mythologies: Where Do We Go from Here? 157
Bibliography 175
Index 177
xi
LIST OF FIGURES
Fig. 1.1 DMA diagram 15

Fig. 2.1 Jung’s model of the psyche 31
Fig. 5.1 BNP children placards 110
xiii
CHAPTER 1
Why Study Mythology and How is it

Affective?
Myths are everywhere. We see myths, we feel myths, we use myths, we are
myths. Mythology plays an affective role in our lives—across the historical,
cultural, and psychological complexities of individuals and societies. It is
not merely the case that stories affect us because they communicate ideas
that arouse thoughts and stir emotions. Stories often mean much more
than this, since they are produced and understood from the depths of our
psyche through to the archetypal expressions of language, representation,
experience, and ideology. I see mythologies (Campbell 1949, 1988, 1990,
2008) as the affective products of our minds, thoughts, feelings, and
emotions that are stimulated from archetypal forms of our unconscious
(Jung 1959). Archetypes and mythologies are significant components of
consciousness and communication that are not only relevant to our indi-
vidual psyches but to our collective psyches and ideologies. Through the
theoretical and analytical nuances of this book, I show why mythology
should be considered for its affective qualities. In doing so, I encourage
readers and researchers to rediscover “the power of myth” (Campbell
1988) through interdisciplinary innovations that allow us to analyze the
significance and affective influence of mythology in media, news, politics,
institutions, and society critically.
We must seek to understand more about the cultural and ideological
significance of affective mythology in contemporary storytelling. As histo-
rian Yuval Harari (2014a) puts it:
© The Author(s) 2017 1

D. Kelsey, Media and Affective Mythologies,
DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-60759-7_1
2 D. KELSEY
The real difference between us and chimpanzees is the mysterious glue that
enables millions of humans to cooperate effectively. This mysterious glue is
made of stories, not genes. We cooperate effectively with strangers because
we believe in things like gods, nations, money, and human rights. Yet, none
of these things exists outside the stories that people invent and tell one
another. There are no gods in the universe, no nations, no money, and no
human rights—except in the common imagination of human beings. You can
never convince a chimpanzee to give you a banana by promising him that
after he dies, he will get limitless bananas in chimpanzee Heaven. Only
Sapiens can believe such stories.1
This “mysterious glue” is something we experience every day without

necessarily questioning it, yet it is fundamental to the mythologies we live
by—in the decisions we make, the places we work, the values we hold, the
places we live, and the gods we worship. Harari has also described this
phenomenon as a “mythical glue” (2014b:42) that binds large numbers
and groups of humans together, which has made us masters of creation.
Mythology functions through stories since they are used by people to
create meaning and social structures. Mythology is used to understand our
existence and to create our own sense of value and order in the world.
Mythology develops through the archetypal conventions of our minds and
our cultural semiosis—the unconscious and conscious dynamics of which I
explore in this book.
My motivations for writing this book partly developed from my fasci-
nation with mythology and media in my research and teaching. But I was
also struck by the multiple events and debates that we were witnessing at a
time when I was becoming a father for the first time. My own archetypal
journey was reaching a significant point when I was asking more questions
about the world that my daughter was joining. So many national and
global events worried me in ways that stretched beyond even my own
personal interests: the manner of the UK’s referendum debate and its
outcome; the financial and social discourses during divisive debates around
austerity after the banking crisis; the endless scandals that shamed multiple
public institutions including those involved in historical child abuse; the
ruthless and unethical behavior of newspapers; the aggressive and insen-
sitive attitudes of the public on social media; the political turmoil around
the world and the refugee crisis; Western foreign policy and the “war on
terror;” the rise of Islamic State (ISIS) and the actions of governments
attempting to wipe out an ideology with military action; the election of
1 WHY STUDY MYTHOLOGY AND HOW IS IT AFFECTIVE? 3
Donald Trump who appeared to offer little more than hate as a

pseudo-alternative to the establishment of which he was already involved.
These were just some of the issues that made me step back and ask why
these things were happening. Whilst this book cannot solve these prob-
lems, it can help to understand more about the emotive and affective
influences that drive some of the stories, actions, perceptions, and
responses involved in public affairs. By considering the powerful persua-
sions of affective mythologies, this book analyzes stories that reflect par-
ticular psychological and mythological traits and tendencies within us as
humans and societies. Whatever the political views and opinions of readers
might be, we must seek to understand more about the archetypal con-
ventions of how we think, feel, act, and communicate.
This book develops and applies an analytical framework that shows how
mythology plays an affective role in our lives. Through a rigorous
psycho-discursive analysis of multimedia material, four case studies will
focus on political and ideological dynamics that demonstrate the relevance
of Jungian psychology and archetypal mythology in personal and collective
contexts.2 The case studies will show how mythology operates through
complex psycho-discursive practices that draw on the archetypal, semiotic,
historical, social, and ideological resources of storytellers and readers in
order to make sense of the world.
As Campbell puts it, our lives are stories and we rely on storytelling to
define and understand who we are. We are constantly affected by the
experiences, interactions, exchanges, information, knowledge, encounters,
memories, and connections that we develop in our lives. We draw upon
mythological resources of our inner psyche to feel and process emotions
and expressions:
People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life. I don’t think
that’s what we’re really seeking. I think that what we’re seeking is an expe-
rience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane
will have resonances with our own innermost being and reality, so that we
actually feel the rapture of being alive. (Campbell 1988)
Mythology is both projective and injective. The formations and articula-

tions of our minds and thoughts are in constant negotiation between the
personal and collective stories that we experience. But these phenomena
can only function and operate coherently through what I propose in
Chap. 2 as the affective apparatus of our collective minds; the shared
4 D. KELSEY
(universal) archetypal and psychological resources that we use to feel, to

think, to act and to communicate.
However, this notion of universality should be approached with caution.
It is important to understand that Western concepts and representations of
archetypes have developed in their own cultural contexts. These should not
be crudely applied as templates to any cultures and societies that mytho-
logical analysts do not understand.3 It is important to understand that
whilst Jung claimed there are universal neurological components that
enable shared archetypal dynamics to develop in the human psyche, he also
noted that these developments are significantly dependent upon and
influenced by the culture to which the mind and self are exposed. As Brien
(2013) points out, Jung did not suggest that one meaning should ever be
ascribed to a single archetype. Jung went as far as to argue that this
approach would completely miss the point of the archetypes since “the one
thing consistent with their nature is their manifold meaning, their almost
limitless wealth of reference, which makes any unilateral formulation
impossible” (1959:38). These are important nuances to bear in mind
through the theoretical position I adopt.
By developing an interdisciplinary, psycho-discursive approach to
affective mythology, my case studies analyze the transpersonal politics of
storytelling and ideology. Through synergies of previous research (Kelsey
2014, 2015a, b, d) and refined conceptual frameworks this approach will
provide interdisciplinary innovations and contributions to many academic
fields. Scholars of media studies, cultural studies, journalism studies, critical
discourse studies, literary studies, historical studies, psychology, and an-
thropology can all benefit from aspects of the synergies and innovations I
propose, which should enrich the analytical scope of critical contributions
across such disciplines. Furthermore, this study continues to show how the
discourse-mythological approach (DMA) that I previously developed
(Kelsey 2015a) offers a flexible and expansive framework designed to sys-
tematically analyze discursive constructions of mythology. However, this is
no simple task since I have already introduced many terms that need
detailed attention and clarification: affect; apparatus; mythology; discourse;
ideology; transpersonal. Defining what these terms mean for interdisci-
plinary and psycho-discursive analysis warrants clarity and explanation,
which I provide in Chap. 2.
By refining the DMA framework, I want to broaden the scope of its
discursive toolkit in order to understand more about the affective role of
mythology. Why? Because the ideological and communicative practices of
society and mythology are so deeply entwined with psychological struc-

tures and archetypal mechanisms of the human psyche. These affective
qualities form the mythologies that we live by—they are powerful and they
influence the best and worst traits of humanity. Affective mythologies have
a significant impact on social relations including issues of race, religion,
class, gender, power, and culture in personal, public, and private spaces, all
of which are political. Therefore, it is essential to understand the
psycho-discursive mechanics of mythology in its affective form and its
inescapable ideological influence.
This inescapable influence is significant since I do not attempt to
overcome or propose some abolishment of mythology or escape the ide-
ological role it plays in our lives. This is not possible. Instead, this book
accepts mythology as part of who we are, how we think, how we feel, and
how we live. Instead of trying to avoid mythology, I argue that we need to
understand more about mythology in order to think more consciously and
responsibly about how it works within us, why we need it and how it
operates through individuals and societies. We should be reflective and
critical about our own storytelling (to ourselves and others) as much as we
are willing to critique the stories of those we dislike or disagree with.
Since I approach mythology as an all-encompassing phenomenon in the
experiential, psychological, physical, and social aspects of our lives, let’s
return to the work of Joseph Campbell (1949, 1988, 1990) who proposed
four functions of mythology in this respect.
CAMPBELL’S FOUR MYTHOLOGICAL FUNCTIONS

Campbell makes an important contribution to the contemporary study of
mythology and was significantly influenced by Carl Jung (1959). Campbell
saw mythology as a truth about who we are. This is not to suggest that
mythological stories are true in a literal sense but, in their metaphorical
form, he argued that the messages they portray say something about us as
humans, individuals, and societies:
Mythology is not a lie, mythology is poetry, it is metaphorical. It has been

well said that mythology is the penultimate truth – penultimate because the
ultimate cannot be put into words. It is beyond words. Beyond images,
beyond that bounding rim of the Buddhist Wheel of Becoming. Mythology
pitches the mind beyond that rim, to what can be known but not told.
(Campbell 1988)
6 D. KELSEY
Campbell was a comparative mythologist and anthropologist who spent

decades researching stories and rituals of different cultures and communi-
ties around the world. He identified what he saw as four common func-
tions of myth. These functions explain the social and psychological levels
through which we use myths to help make sense of the world. There is no
need to interpret these functions rigidly or use them to categorize every
story in my case studies. Rather, the intertextual complexities of storytelling
and current affairs will often contain overlapping layers of mythological
functions. These complexities show us how multiple archetypes are
developed through the affective dynamics and recurring functional traits of
mythology.
Metaphysical (or mystic) function: This is where myth functions to
“evoke in the individual a sense of grateful, affirmative awe before the
monstrous mystery that is existence” (Campbell 2008:7). The metaphysical
function of myth reflects the human tendency to recognize the awe of the
universe and tells stories that connect us to the notion of something else,
rather than nothing, which cannot be explained. As McGee explains,
through stories about ghosts, alien abductions, contact with angels, con-
versations with gods, “and even scientific stories like Schrodinger’s cat and
the multiverse theory of reality, the mystical function is important for
relating the mind to the mystery that something exists … and a connection
to the sacred” (2016). This function also feeds the wonderment that
energizes our pursuit for meaning in the second function of myth.
Cosmological (or cosmic) function: This is where we form perceptions of
the cosmos to explain the universe in ways that “maintain and elicit this
experience of awe” from the metaphysical function. The cosmological
function of myth takes on different forms over time. From astronomical
gods to Genesis or the Big Bang Theory, we have told stories that seek to
explain the creation and existence of our universe through the cosmos.
Aboriginal people in Australia used the cosmos to understand the earth’s
natural patterns and seasons that indicated when particular foods were
available:
For example, at different times of the year the Emu in the Sky is oriented so it
appears to be either running or sitting down. Depending upon its position
people in the Western desert knew it was time to hunt for emus or collect
their eggs. When Scorpius was visible in the evening sky towards the end of
April people of Groote Eylandt in the Gulf of Carpentaria knew the wet
season was over and the dry south-easterly wind marimariga would soon
begin to blow. The Boorong people in north Western Victoria looked to the
mallee fowl constellation, Neilloan (Lyra), to tell them when they should
harvest the bird’s eggs. When Neilloan appeared in the north-west sky
around April, they knew the birds would be preparing their mound-like nests.
The disappearance of Neilloan in late September or early October meant it
was time to start gathering.4
For many of us now, the modern cosmological function of myth operates

through science—the laws of physics are what many see as the answer to
explaining how our universe works and how it came into existence. Just our
quest for knowledge in this sense reflects our current cosmological per-
ceptions and understandings of the universe. When Campbell suggested
one could understand a society by looking at its biggest buildings (1988),
we could actually apply this concept to the physical structures of scientific
investigation. From the earliest telescopes that have been used to observe
and help measure the universe through to the Large Hadron Collider that
has been built to help explain some of the unanswered questions of physics,
this is the cosmological function of myth that civilizations have continually
experienced and pursued over time. Our need to explain the cosmological
foundations of our world is a perennial trait that responds to the meta-
physical wonderment of life.
Sociological function: This function is particularly significant to con-
temporary politics. This is where we “validate and maintain a certain
sociological system: a shared set of rights and wrongs, properties or
improprieties, on which your particular social unit depends for existence”
(2008:10). This function is important in my case studies since it provides
an explicit point where we can see how ideology breaks through in
mythology. That is not to say ideology is exclusive to this function since
these functions can overlap. In some instances, we might see how socio-
logical interests, moral codes and political agendas operate through stories
that arise from the mythological elements of the first two functions.
It is through the sociological function of myth that we often see the best
and worst of human nature. On the one hand, moral codes might be
established to protect and support those in need. On the other hand,
divisive and destructive orders might be projected in ways that are detri-
mental to particular social groups—who subsequently might need to
establish their own counter mythologies to oppose those repressive ten-
dencies of exploitative ideologies. McGee (2016) gives a good example
8 D. KELSEY
from ancient Greece, which also reflects tensions in the overlap and con-
tradiction between different mythological functions:
The Greek myth of Pandora is another good example of a myth that upholds
a misbalanced culture. The Greeks were a patriarchal society that subjugated
women, and the myth helped to uphold and justify that belief. The problem
is that it’s not in accord with cosmic order: since healthy human dynamic
requires a balance between masculine and feminine energies.
How we define these masculine and feminine “energies” are also culturally
determined perceptions and dynamics of the sociological function. The
overlapping mechanisms of these mythological functions are important
since they are all informed by the fourth function. This fourth function
helps us to recognize the ideological interplays that occur across the
transpersonal.
Pedagogical function: This accounts for the psychological aspects of
myth that guide us through the significant stages of life. As Campbell puts
it, “myth must carry the individual through the stages of his life, from birth
through maturity through senility to death. The mythology must do so in
accord with the social order of his group, and the monstrous mystery”
(2008:12). Campbell saw this as the binding psychological function that
existed through the other three functions. Regardless of the social orders
and environments people finds themselves in, this function forms recurring
patterns of thought and behavior that provide examples of good and bad
ways of living life.
Religions have used the mystical, cosmological, and sociological aspects
of doctrine to implement social orders and tell stories that have carried
ideological implications. Science also takes its own stance and often exer-
cises secular values to resist those sociological and pedagogical functions of
religion where it sees an unjustifiable influence in politics. McGee explains
the pedagogical function succinctly through its relevance to those other
functions:
Pedagogical myths help to shape individuals to the aims and ideals of a

particular social group or tribe, guiding them from birth to death through
the course of a human life. These are myths that show by good and/or bad
example how to live a human life. They provide patterns of thought that
bring meaning to life. Such powerful guidance stories as the Jewish Ten
Commandments, Buddha’s Eight-fold Noble Path, Lord Krishna’s Bhagavad
Gita, and Joseph Campbell’s The Hero’s Journey, for example. These are
vital stories that help us look for the truth within ourselves through the
guidance of people from the past (real or not, it doesn’t matter) who have
gone through similar trials and tribulations. … Even trickster myths hold
deep wisdom for how to live a sensible and meaningful life in the face of
absurdity and meaninglessness.
The overlapping nature of these four functions provides a mythological

framework that operates across the affective apparatus of the transpersonal
that I discuss in Chap. 2. At all levels, we see how our efforts to bring
meaning to life connect our archetypal and emotional and innate patterns
of behavior through the evocative desire and aspirations to understand who
we are and how we should live.
From this account of Campbell’s four functions we can see how they
operate across the case studies in this book: the monomyth I identify in the
Farage case study (Chap. 3); the moral messages of trickster myths about
bankers (Chap. 4); the shadows of multiple social groups in child abuse
scandals (Chap. 5); the individuation and transpersonal mechanisms of
affective mythology in the case of Russell Brand (Chap. 6). By finishing my
case studies with that latter, we see multiple mythological dynamics and
Campbell’s four functions occurring explicitly through Brand’s desire to
find meaning in life on another level of consciousness. Brand reflects on his
previous sociological and pedagogical experience that lacked a conscious
connection with those mystical and cosmological functions that he now
embraces.
My previous work has analyzed mythology in multiple contexts of news,
journalism, memory, politics, and culture. But I have not theorized or
analyzed affect or the affective operations of discourse-mythological
dynamics in storytelling. More explicit attention to affect stimulates nec-
essary developments across the interdisciplinary complexities of myth the-
ory and critical discourse studies. Like the concepts of mythology,
discourse and ideology, there are many ways of discussing and theorizing
affect (see Wetherell 2012). Affect, mythology, discourse and ideology are
conceptually interlinked and overlap within psychological and commu-
nicative practices that constantly synergize and interact with each other.
Nonetheless, these concepts should remain separate and distinguished
from one another. I will now revisit the discourse-mythological approach
before expanding its scope to introduce Wetherell’s (2012) concept of
10 D. KELSEY
affective practice. This refined approach to DMA will then incorporate the
Jungian psychological framework proposed in Chap. 2.
THE DISCOURSE-MYTHOLOGICAL APPROACH

In previous work, I proposed a discourse-mythological approach (DMA)
designed for analyzing discursive constructions of myth in news stories.
This section will provide an overview of that framework in order to
familiarize readers with its terminology and analytical grounding. I will
then begin to refine DMA by expanding its conceptual suitability for
analyzing the affective practices (Wetherell 2012) of discourse, mythology,
and ideology. This enables DMA to continue the textual and semiotic
analysis that it provides whilst incorporating a psychological framework
(Jung 1959; Campbell 1988, 2008; Stevens 1994; Zweig and Abrams
1991) designed to analyze affective mythologies.
DMA distinguishes the concepts of mythology, discourse, and ideology
as separate yet overlapping terms. DMA has adopted the tools of Critical
Discourse Analysis (CDA) to analyze discursive constructions of mythol-
ogy and how they function ideologically in media and news stories. In
doing so, DMA’s theoretical synergies reflect a reciprocal process across
disciplines: cultural theory can inform approaches to discourse studies;
whilst discourse studies can provide the technical toolkits necessary for the
analytical application of cultural theory. I am now expanding these syn-
ergies further by introducing other academic disciplines such as psychology
and a more rigorous incorporation of anthropology. So, it is important to
understand that this is not a typical CDA project (if there is such a thing).
It does not conduct the type of analysis that some CDA scholars (or critics)
might be familiar with and it does not take one fixed social position, as
CDA often does. But it is critical. I seek to understand ideology more
rigorously through the approach I develop in this book and I still aim to
enhance our understanding of societal problems through my analysis.
Mythology, Discourse, and Ideology

Mythology has been discussed by many scholars across a range of theo-
retical disciplines over time, stretching well beyond the scope of DMA. The
eclectic contributions of myth theory that I proposed here merely scratched
the surface on decades of works that traced the role of mythology in culture
and societies over many centuries. Hence, I specified the essential
mechanisms of mythology to provide DMA with the most comprehensive

and applicable understanding of its function in relation to ideology, dis-
course, and storytelling. For the sake of defining the key terms concerned
here, I referred mainly to the work of Barthes (1993), Lule (2001) and
Flood (2002).
Mythology, ideology, and discourse must be distinguished separately
since they are overlapping terms but they are not the same (Bottici 2007;
Flood 2002). As Flood points out, failure to define the concept of dis-
course within theoretical frameworks of mythology have faced two central
limitations: they have blurred the distinction between myth and ideology;
and they fail to provide a systematic approach for analyzing how beliefs are
expressed through myth. Therefore, it is important to understand how
myth ‘arises from the intricate, highly variable relationship between claims
to validity, discursive construction, ideological marking, and reception of
the account by a particular audience in a particular historical context’
(Flood 2002). But before we discuss discourse any further let’s distinguish
the difference between myth and ideology with some clarity from Flood,
who defines myth as a type of discourse and a vehicle for ideology:
At the same time, if we are to maintain that political myths should be con-
sidered as a type of ideological discourse, they need to be distinguished from
other modes of ideological discourse but be shown to be in complementary
relationship with them as to their form, their content, and their functions.
They must be identified as vehicles of ideological beliefs and as supports for
ideological arguments. Political myths are therefore in competition with one
another insofar as they represent competing ideologies. (ibid)
The ideological battleground (Gramsci 1971) that I examined through the

myth of the Blitz (Kelsey 2012, 2013, 2015a) demonstrates the compet-
itive dynamic that Flood refers to. But when identifying ideological posi-
tions or expressions of discourse, the analyst often faces a problem—this
being the accusation of carrying or applying their own ideological per-
spective: ‘The problem is that, once one enters into the polemical use of
the concept of ideology, it becomes impossible to extricate oneself from it
—it triggers a vicious circle. The dichotomy of ‘ideological’ versus ‘real’
upon which this use ultimately rests can always be turned against those who
employ it’ (Bottici 2007:199). This problem should be confronted since it
can be overcome in this framework by conceptually identifying ideology as
neutral and inclusive. In my work on journalism education and media
12 D. KELSEY
ethics with David Baines, we stated that ideology should not only be
referred to negatively in accusation or opposition:
We propose that ideology should not be used solely in accusation or criticism

(a fault that often lies with media critics and theorists) but in observation and
recognition – even in one’s proposed political arguments and solutions. For
instance, if you criticize something for its ideological intentions, a progressive
approach to ideology would accept that your counter-argument might be
equally ideological. This approach immediately welcomes (rather than sup-
presses) the possibility of discussions about structural issues involved in, for
example, news production. (Baines and Kelsey 2013:31)
It is this neutral (albeit critical) approach to ideology that enables com-

parative and critical analysis; addressing the content, structure, and func-
tional elements of ideologies (Flood 2002) in different discursive contexts.
The latter is particularly important and applicable to the psychological
framework introduced in Chap. 2 where the Jungian concept of the sha-
dow is discussed. This approach enables the ‘critical examination of where,
how, and to what extent political discourse in any given instance—in-
cluding the discourse of scholars aiming at objectivity—is ideologically
marked’ (ibid.). In adopting this position, I do not claim any freedom from
ideology or shy away from acknowledging my own subjective interpreta-
tions; the analyst can accept that our own knowledge, understanding and
critique is influenced by ideology. Flood’s position is important here since
he argues that the validity of a story to some people can appear invalid to
others: ‘Indeed, if the part of the definition of political myth is that is a
narrative which is marked by ideological assumptions, values, and goals of
one political belief system may well appear invalid to those who hold dif-
ferent ideological beliefs’. So, context is important. Not only do different
readers carry different ‘context models’ (Kelsey and Bennett 2014; van Dijk
1998) but ‘careful attention needs to be paid to the discursive context as
well as to the social and historical circumstances in which the words
expressing the belief are uttered’ (Flood 2002).
Similarly, archetypal and mythological conventions of storytelling are
informing my own understandings and interpretations of events. However,
in such an approach the analyst is critically aware of this and is able to
critically reflect: ‘Analysts are not free from ideology or superior to myth.
But they can be critical and they can be reflective without proposing truth
or falsity in their own accounts when we understand how myth and
ideology function through the discourses we produce and consume’

(Kelsey 2014). By taking this position, the analyst cannot be accused of
claiming intellectual or analytical superiority through pseudo-objectivism.
This approach to discourse, mythology and ideology is concerned with how
meanings function and the purpose that they serve rather than proposing
fixed ideals of truth versus lies or non-ideological versus ideological. But at
the same time, this does not prohibit the analyst from being critical or
exploring exploitative power relations that often do operate through dis-
course and mythology.
Some scholars of CDA will not necessarily agree with the neutral
approach I adopt to ideology. Nonetheless, frameworks of CDA often
consider language from a functionalist perspective (Fairclough 1995;
Fowler 1991; Richardson 2007; Wodak 1999; van Dijk 1998). Like myth,
it is argued that discourse can restrict and allow certain discussions of a
topic: ‘Just as discourse ‘rules in’ certain ways of talking about a topic… it
‘rules out’, limits and restricts other ways of talking… in relation to the
topic or constructing knowledge about it’ (Hall 2001:72–73). Similarly,
Flood acknowledges this dynamic in his approach to political myth. He
argues that what qualifies as a salient fact is determined by interpretation, as
are the accounts which the storyteller establishes:
After all, in a finite discourse the selection of information necessarily entails

the exclusion of other information. The degree of detail and emphasis given
to some events represents a choice of precedence as to whether one set will
be foregrounded at the expense of others. (2002)
Attempts to understand the ideological role of myth often serve similar

purposes to those of CDA: they address concerns about power relations
that construct discourses to serve particular ideological interests (van Dijk
1998; Wodak et al. 1999; Richardson 2007). For example, Wodak con-
siders discourse-historical traits by ‘tracing the historical (intertextual)
history of phrases and arguments… and centers on political issues such as
racism, integrating all available background information in the analysis and
interpretation of the different layers of a text’ (Wodak 2008:9). Similarly,
Barthes argued that myths are formed historically, as cultural constructions
although they appear in a naturalized form, hence their ideological func-
tion when they are taken as ‘common sense’ (Barthes 1972:110).
14 D. KELSEY
However, despite the clear similarities between myth and discourse,

Flood rightly maintains a distinction between the two when he defines
discourse in the details through which it constructs myth and carries
ideology:
The choices among possible alternatives in the selection of information, the

attribution of qualities, motives, and objectives to historical actors, inferences
concerning relationships of cause and effect, use of descriptive terms or other
lexical items, grammatical constructions, overall organization, location of the
narrative, and any other factors are all relevant insofar as they contribute to
the orientation of the discourse in the direction of one ideological current as
opposed to another. (2002)
Significantly, Flood points out that other past models of myth, despite their
relevance and use, have not always been able to provide systematic ways of
analyzing myth in the language and expression of texts. Therefore, by
synergizing CDA with myth theory (DMA), a more systematic analysis is
possible.
DMA examines the discursive components and mechanisms that Flood
refers to whilst applying the myth theory that I have covered so far. When
distinguishing myth from ideology, Bottici describes myths as narratives,
which ‘put the drama on stage’ (Bottici 2007:206). Similar to Barthes’
point regarding an image of passion rather than passion itself, Bottici claims
it is the ‘impression of being part of such drama that the typically strong
pathos of a political myth derives’ (ibid.:206). Therefore, it is the expres-
sions, language, styles, boundaries, and overall composition of discourse
that constructs myth. Discourse constructs the story (myth) that carries the
ideology, whilst ideology also informs the construction of discourse. Bottici
continues: ‘I can theoretically share an ideology which leaves me com-
pletely indifferent on the emotional level, but no political myth can ever be
shared and at the same time remain emotionally indifferent’ (ibid.:206).
The latter implicitly points to affective qualities beyond discourse that are
significant to the salience of myth. The distinction and connection between
ideology and myth is defined by the role that discourse plays in expressing
ideology through mythological forms. It is here that the DMA diagram
(Kelsey 2015a) demonstrates its synergy of discourse, mythology, and
ideology (Fig. 1.1).
As we can see, this diagram only accounts for the circular mechanisms of
ideologies and mythologies operating through discourses, which are also
Fig. 1.1 DMA diagram
products of ideologies and mythologies. At this stage, it does not account

for the deeper psychological grounding that accounts for the affective
stimuli where archetypes, complexes, and shadows (Jung 1946, 1959,
1973) operate across the transpersonal. This is because I previously
examined how myths are constructed or expressed almost exclusively in
their discursive form and in doing so I used the tools and terminology that
CDA commonly offers. Some of these terms are still common in the
vocabulary of my analytical toolbox (see Kelsey 2015a) but they are
accompanied by other terms and concepts that enrich the depth and
interdisciplinary scope of theorization. In doing so, my previous adoption
of Fairclough’s three-layered model (1995) changes slightly in this book
since I expand beyond the dimensions that he proposed.
Fairclough focused on three layers of discourse: textual elements, dis-
cursive practice, and social practice in the multi layered production and
consumption of texts. With this multidimensional approach in mind, DMA
accounts for macro and micro levels of discourse (van Dijk 1998; Wodak
16 D. KELSEY
2008). As van Dijk states: ‘Language use, discourse, verbal interaction, and
communication belong to the micro level of the social order. Power, dom-
inance, and inequality between social groups are typically terms that belong
to a macro level of analysis’ (van Dijk 1998:354). Whilst these aspects of CDA
are still entirely applicable, the psychological-anthropological framework I
introduce through Jung and Campbell, expands the parameters of what these
approaches to language have typically analyzed. There are significant psy-
chological dimensions beyond these levels of analysis that account for
archetypal resources and the transpersonal qualities of affective apparatus that
I discuss in Chap. 2. Hence, the familiar tools and frameworks of CDA are still
insightful due to the social and discursive practices they address. But it is
important to understand that a Jungian approach takes us deeper into the
psyche and accounts for affective practices that CDA and DMA have not
previously investigated. At this point it is useful to define my approach to
affective practice since it carries similarities and differences to that of
Wetherell (2012) who recently proposed this term within a discourse studies
approach.
INTRODUCING AFFECTIVE PRACTICE

Wetherell has provided a comprehensive position that makes affect and
emotion analysis conceptually compatible for discourse studies. Her
approach considers the affective qualities of the semiotic in its broadest
communicative (semiotic) sense (2012:20). Prior to other points of dif-
ference between Wetherell’s approach and my own, there is a specific focus
that I take from Wetherell’s work: the fact that affective processes and
meaning making are bound up and entangled in the semiotic and discursive
practices through which we communicate (see also Kelsey 2015c). As
Wetherell explains, “so much of public affect is communicative and bound
up with communicative practices such as narrative. Affective-discursive
practices such as ‘doing righteous indignation’ or ‘doing being the victim’
are so salient and crucial in political life and yet are deeply methodical and
mannered” (2014). Hence, discourse can be affective, persuasive, and
emotive—it feeds into social exchanges whilst those affective elements also
feed back into discursive practices. This is what Wetherell refers to as
“affective-discursive loops” (2012:7).
So, affect is not just an alternative term for emotion. Affective practices
are more than just emotions since they are the discursive and psychological
processes and interactions that both stir emotions and use emotions to
communicate broader conceptual information, personal feelings, and social

values. Wetherell’s approach states the importance of social science in
efforts to understand affect and emotion in social contexts, environments,
and practices. Discourse is not limited to sight and sound since it is part of
“physical practices and cultural conducts, which are informed and influ-
enced by the social relations and power structures that we are part of”
(ibid.:18). Discourse both affects, and is affected by, the feelings, emotions,
minds, ideologies, and interactive experiences that we have in personal
spaces and social contexts as individuals and collectives.
To reassure scholars of discourse, a move towards affective practice does
not mean “a naïve return to humanism and realism or a return to analyzing
affect through uncritical acceptance of people’s subjective descriptions of
emotional states” (Wetherell 2012:76). Rather, as Wetherell argues, we
can actually benefit from “drawing on the more lively theory and accounts
of discourse in action” (ibid.:76). By considering affective dynamics
through broader multimodal concepts of communicative practice—that
includes the psycho-discursive dynamics of archetypes and mythology—my
analysis enriches our understanding of social interactions beyond texts and
discursive constructions of mythology.
However, the Jungian psychological dimension of my approach is where
I differ to Wetherell, since psychoanalysis is one of many approaches she
later dismisses. Therefore, whilst I agree with the discursive-semiotic pre-
mise and principles of Wetherell’s affective practice, my broader theoretical
framework does not adopt this term in the same way that she proposed. On
the one hand, Wetherell’s notion of affective-discursive dynamics applies to
the semiotic dimensions that I address in my case studies. However, she
later rejects various theories of the unconscious and dismisses the validity of
psychoanalytical frameworks, mainly through attention to Freud
(Wetherell 2012:127–139). Whilst Wetherell does not discuss Jung
specifically, her further skepticism around depth psychology means the
broader theoretical position she develops is not entirely compatible with
the analytical framework that I introduce in Chap. 2. This is partly because
she develops an approach that synergizes other aspects of psychology and
neurology, which are less useful for analyzing the discursive construction
and psychological operations of archetypes and mythology. Hence, I adopt
affective practice as a helpful starting point for discursive work that seeks to
synergize other psychological and anthropological theories.5
Previous conceptualizations of affect are wide ranging across different
interdisciplinary approaches (Wetherell 2012; Kelsey 2015c; Ash 2010;
18 D. KELSEY
Pedwell 2014; Thrift 2008; Anderson 2009; Ahmed 2004; Dewsbury

2003; McCormarck 2003, 2006, 2007). However, in Wetherell’s (2012)
work she makes a distinct effort to discuss the shortcomings of other
approaches. For example, under the heading “Wrong Turns” she reviews
areas of research that have proposed problematic positions in the affective
turn. Wetherell points to Thrift (2008) and other cultural geographers
(Anderson 2006, 2009; Dewsbury 2003; McCormarck 2003, 2006, 2007)
who have moved towards the development of ‘non-representational the-
ory’. She sees their approach as a misleading and incoherent account of the
social psychology of affect. In what Wetherell sees as cultural geographers
“rubbishing discourse”, she responds with her argument that “human
affect is inextricably linked with meaning-making and with the semiotic
(broadly defined) and the discursive” (2012:20).
Whilst I agree with Wetherell’s effort to defend discourse studies, I feel
there is actually an interesting nuance that Wetherell refers to (albeit
unsupportively) in McCormack’s (2003) work. McCormack saw the move
towards ‘non-representation theory’ as an opportunity to theorize and
analyze processes that operate below “thresholds of conscious contem-
plation” (2003:488). For me, even as a discourse analyst, this move to
think about what happens beneath immediate levels of consciousness is
extremely interesting and very much reflects some of my own curiosities in
the affective function of archetypes and mythology. Whilst I do not adopt
McCormack’s work, it is encouraging to see different disciplines high-
lighting the significance of similar affective qualities whilst offering different
analytical toolkits for understanding the relevance of consciousness beyond
discourse and representation.
These discussions have stimulated much debate on how we should
understand the role of affect within and beyond the social sciences and
cultural research. I believe many approaches have something valid to offer
through their own disciplinary nuances and actually demonstrate the
necessity for breadth and complexity in our understanding of affect and
emotion. Whilst I do not always share the same theoretical positions as other
scholars, I do share a similar to motivation to move beyond familiar territory
of discourse and representation to other terrains of cultural, psychological,
and affective nuances. Hence, I propose an approach that oscillates between
the non-representational and representational in order to understand the
sophisticated interplays and influences between mind and text, feelings and
language, thoughts and image. This approach applies to individuals, soci-
eties, and institutions—it applies across the transpersonal.
I appreciate why Wetherell proposed her approach in the way she did—
especially if she had grounds to respond to what she saw as the “rubbishing
of discourse” (2012:19). But either way we should avoid lines in the sand
or overemphasis on academic divisions between approaches that offer
healthy variations in conceptual insights that serve different intellectual
purposes. I see scope for a healthy interdisciplinary range of affective
concepts beyond this book in order to understand the polygonal opera-
tions and dynamics of affective practice. Affect and discourse are so inter-
twined and complimentary in our interactions, reactions, behaviors,
embodied meanings, interpretations, and perceptions across multiple social
contexts, that we cannot truly separate these concepts in social research.
Non-representational theorists should not overlook the significance of
representation and semiotics beyond the terrains of their own research.
Equally, representational theorists should make more effort to understand
psychological and affective dynamics beyond the semiotic. The
psycho-discursive approach that I develop further in Chap. 2 is applied
throughout the following case studies in this book.
OVERVIEW OF CASE STUDIES

This chapter and Chap. 2 cover important ground since they enhance the
analytical scope of DMA. The discussion so far has introduced the concept
of affective practice to the analytical vocabulary of DMA and integrated
Campbell’s four functions of myth. However, I also need to explain the
transpersonal complexities of affective mythology in further psychological
depth. Hence Chap. 2 introduces Jung’s concept of the collective
unconscious, which had a significant influence on the work of Campbell. In
defining the concept of the transpersonal, Chap. 2 seeks to explain how the
collective unconscious is significant to the ideological operations, discursive
interactions, and social practices of storytelling. These are highly politicized
processes that are entrenched in the continual reproduction of archetypes
and mythology in contemporary culture.
Chapter 3 is the first of four case studies. It applies the theoretical
material from this chapter and Chap. 2 through a discourse-mythological
analysis of Nigel Farage. In doing so, it incorporates and further develops
my previous analysis of Nigel Farage, Hero mythology and right-wing
populism in the Mail Online (Kelsey 2015d). It also reflects on the
20 D. KELSEY
referendum in which the UK voted to leave the European Union (EU).

The analysis considers the affective-discursive loops reflected through
reader comments on the Mail Online website. This enables us to look more
closely at the consumption of stories and contributions of readers to this
narrative; the different responses that certain archetypal traits stimulate in
readers according to their ideological perceptions. I then reflect on this
analysis through some consideration of trickster qualities from other
chapters that relate to psycho-discursive concerns around national identity
and British perceptions of the EU. The analytical style of this chapter is also
similar to that of Chap. 4: both provide a rigorous discourse-mythological
analysis of Mail Online news stories, user comments and language
reflecting particular archetypal and ideological qualities.
Chapter 4 considers bankers as tricksters in news stories since the fi-
nancial crisis of 2008. It builds upon my previous analysis of bankers and
trickster mythology (Kelsey 2014) whilst incorporating further analysis of
reader comments. By analyzing the mythological construction of City
bankers and the cultural mythology that we experience through our tur-
bulent encounters with(in) contemporary capitalism, I argue that the
trickster archetype operates through the complications, dilemmas, and
paradoxical traits of discourses about the financial sector. But the trickster
is not necessarily an obvious trait in these stories. Hence, I argue that our
critical (mythological) reflections can actually help us to understand what is
really happening through the discursive complexities of stories, opinions,
and political practices of the transpersonal. Arguments about bankers and
the financial crisis have opened previously absent discussions about con-
temporary capitalism and calls for new financial models and structures
(Mason 2015). Whilst it was not the intention of bankers to stimulate these
discussions, it is the stories that we tell about them and our perceptions of
“their world” that have stimulated calls for change. Therefore, I explore
the archetypal paradox that has forced us to question the morality of the
banking sector as well as the culture of consumer capitalism that we are all
part of and partially responsible for maintaining. These paradoxical com-
plexities lead us to think about the Jungian shadows and projections (in-
troduced in Chap. 2), which are the focus of Chap. 5.
Chapter 5 analyzes the child archetype, scapegoats, and shadows by
juxtaposing Wilkin’s analysis of Oliver Twist in Chap. 2 with the child
abuse scandals of Rotherham Council and Jimmy Savile. It provides a
slightly different style of analysis to Chaps. 3 and 4 by drawing on a range
of multimedia and political sources. It focuses more broadly on the
discursive comparisons between historical parallels that reflect significant

archetypal and ideological qualities. The parallels between the Dickensian
depiction of Victorian London and those recent cases reflect the extent to
which public institutions had failed to shed light on some of society’s
darkest traits and tendencies. In exposing the extent of abuse and injustice
in both cases the mechanistic purpose of scapegoating becomes apparent
through this analysis. It is here that the ideological operations of collective
shadow projections introduced in Chap. 2 are relevant again. We see how
scapegoating can be selective and manipulated to serve other ideological
purposes that do not acknowledge the broader human failings and col-
lective responsibilities of society. For example, right-wing groups and
sections of the press took the opportunity to blame Islamic cultures and
political correctness for the child abuse in Rotherham. The Savile case then
reflects different responses from the press and other social groups as well as
the harsh lessons to be learnt from a shadow of the establishment that
remained repressed from public consciousness for decades.
Chapter 6 provides a case study of Russell Brand. It considers Brand’s
own output and discourses through social media, literature, interviews,
activism, and stand-up comedy as well as the coverage he has received in
the press. In this chapter, it could be argued that Brand is a populist hero
(but different to Farage) and a trickster (but different to bankers). Brand is
reflective of the mythological traits and archetypal qualities discussed of
every chapter in this book. Therefore, he provides a fascinating final case
study since he actively adopts the concepts and literature covered in this
chapter and Chap. 2 through his admiration of Campbell and Jung. Brand
sees mythology as something we need and live by and it features regularly
throughout his own political analysis. Through his calls for a spiritual
revolution he insisted that we need a much more open and reflective
understanding of ideology and mythology. This chapter considers how
Brand’s personal philosophy reflects his application of Jungian concepts in
his own life, which he has used to stimulate a process of individuation.
Brand’s case reflects this oscillation between the individual and the col-
lective across the transpersonal. He suggests that societies need to
re-mythologize themselves and create new ideologies that oppose what he
sees as the negative and destructive forces that currently threaten humanity.
Brand makes his case through various examples such as religion, royalty,
the press, capitalism, and other cultural rituals by critically reflecting on
their ideological place in society. Brand draws on multiple scholars and
theories in his political activism, some of which readers might already be
22 D. KELSEY
familiar. The reason he provides a fascinating case is because he is a pop-

ular, mainstream celebrity who engages with millions of people, globally,
often through his YouTube channel. It is interesting to see how these
critical theories are discussed interactively with mainstream audiences in
relation to contemporary politics.
Chapter 7 reflects on the case studies and revisits the theoretical and
analytical principles that were applied throughout. I discuss some of the
controversies and alternative readings of Campbell. Here I reflect on some
auto-ethnographic qualities that I wish to be honest about with readers—
mainly in my views on Russell Brand, which are beyond the scope of the
case study itself. This chapter also summarizes some of the past lessons
learned and current concerns that still exist through historical parallels,
which demonstrate the contemporary political significance of mythology.
I will then finish with a metaphorical reflection through which I mythol-
ogize collective ideologies and affective apparatus by proposing the concept
of murmurations, which can be taken forward beyond this book.
NOTES
1. http://www.ynharari.com/topic/power-and-imagination/.
2. The media samples for each chapter are small and focused. They are
selected to provide detailed examples of archetypes and mythology for my
discursive analysis. I do not use them as representative data to make gen-
eralized claims or quantitative arguments about “dominant discourses”.
3. Whilst the case studies in this book have a transnational appeal and are
significant to different global ideologies, stories, institutions, and values
they are focused on social and national contexts that I understand as the
analyst.
4. http://www.abc.net.au/science/articles/2009/07/27/2632463.htm.
5. I am still intrigued by research in psychology and neuroscience that is
beginning to discuss “dynamic flows, recursive processes and flexible
orderings” (Wetherell 2012:27). It seems to Wetherell that developments
in the psychobiology of affect is starting work coherently with notions of
social practice that she “would like to see as the main rubric for social
research on affect” (ibid.:27). Wetherell sees this as an opportunity for
psychology and neuroscience to start proposing more social and culturally
applicable theories. Whilst Wetherell’s focus moves in a different direction
to the psycho-discursive position of this book, I am not oppositional to
the ambitions of those disciplines. Although I adopt the work of Jung in
Chap. 2, I should stress that it is not proposed as a psychological “theory
of everything”. Yet at the same time it still provides valid insights that help
us to understand the psycho-discursive dynamics and social significance of
mythology. Other areas of neurological and psychological research will
undoubtedly continue to offer ground-breaking concepts over the com-
ing years. Our interdisciplinary collegiality should embrace the breadth of
insights we have into studies of affect as a polygonal advantage rather than
academic conflict.
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London: Sage.
Wetherell, M. (2014). The future of affect theory: An interview with Margaret
Wetherell. Theory, Culture and Society. http://theoryculturesociety.org/the-
future-of-affect-theory-an-interview-with-margaret-wetherall/. Accessed 1st
November 2014.
Wodak, R. (2008). Introduction: Discourse studies—Important concepts and
terms. In R. Wodak & M. Krzyzanowski (Eds.), Qualitative discourse analysis in
the social sciences. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Wodak, R., et al. (1999). The discursive construction of national identity.
Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.
Zweig, C., & Abrams, J. (Eds.). (1991). Meeting the shadow: The hidden power of
the dark side of human nature. New York: Penguin.
CHAPTER 2
Affective Apparatus: Collective

Unconscious, Archetypes
and the Transpersonal
When I initially developed DMA, it was never proposed as a complete

model or fixed approach. DMA was developed as a dynamic framework
that could always be refined and open to new synergies and further the-
oretical expansions. Chapter 1 already introduced the concept of affective
practice to DMA after expanding my consideration of Campbell’s work on
mythology. However, this chapter introduces a theoretical framework that
is necessary in order to understand the psychological depths and mecha-
nisms of affective mythologies. I want the DMA framework to offer more in
terms of its psycho-discursive analytical scope and understanding of ide-
ology beyond language and representation. Affective practice in the form
that Wetherell proposed is a useful starting point but, as discussed, does
not account for the full scope of affective qualities that I am concerned
with. Hence, this chapter integrates the theoretical work of Carl Jung and
others who have adopted his approach to the collective unconscious. From
here I discuss his concept of archetypes and my interests in the
transpersonal.
Here I will discuss the transpersonal dynamics that help to explain the
oscillation that occurs between non-representational and representational
aspects of consciousness, mythology, and ideology. As Cassires (1946:43)
states, mythology is more than basic emotion since it is the expression of
emotion: “The expression of the feeling is not the feeling itself—it is
emotion turned into an image.” This is one example of why we should
focus on this oscillation between non-representation and representation if
we are to study mythology in its affective form.

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-60759-7_2
28 D. KELSEY
I propose affective apparatus as the most substantive term for encom-

passing the entire psycho-discursive dimensions, language formations and
social expressions of mythology. This stems from the neuropsychic depths
of the unconscious and personal psyche to the collective actions and
expressions of social groups. These groups experience and express their
own mythologies in cultural environments with distinct ideological impli-
cations. This approach enriches the scope of DMA and provides us with a
psycho-discursive synergy that DMA and other discursive frameworks
previously lacked.
On the one hand, Jung’s work is suggestive and useful for helping us to
think about the neuropsychic and evolutionary aspects of affective qualities
behind cultural mythologies. However, I do not pretend that he provided a
faultless or definitive model. I feel Jung’s work provides a fascinating
starting point when we begin to think about the depth and significance of
affective qualities that operate in our unconscious minds. These qualities
provide the building blocks for further mythological, and eventually ide-
ological, projections and personifications in society. Once I have covered
Jung’s model of the psyche I will discuss those specific archetypal traits that
I focus on in each case study in order to provide some context before my
analysis. This shows that whilst I use each case study to analyze the affective
qualities of particular archetypes, it is crucial to understand that these cases
are not exclusively limited to the specific archetypes I discuss. There will
always be archetypal dimensions to stories, in the ways they are told and
read, that stretch beyond the scope of any single analysis. Hence, through a
theoretical overview of connections between each case study, readers
should be able to make further observations beyond my analysis—some of
which I will return to in the conclusion.
CARL JUNG AND THE COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS

Jung was initially a student and close colleague of Freud’s before ending
their friendship and distancing himself both from Freudian psychoanalysis
and the circle of academics that they worked within. Like Freud, Jung saw
himself as a scientist. Jung specialized in depth psychology, with some of
his ideas seeming more mystical and philosophical than scientific. The
non-falsifiable nature of Jungian theory has prohibited his work from
holding any significant scientific status and it has been historically
marginalized in most academic disciplines of psychology. But some of
Jung’s conceptual propositions have stood the test of time and continue to
2 AFFECTIVE APPARATUS: COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS, ARCHETYPES … 29
be adopted in both psychological and anthropological disciplines. For

example, Jung’s notion of psychological complexes, his theorization of
introverted and extroverted personality types and his concerns regarding
the materialism of Western culture all reflect a contemporary relevance in
his work (Samuels 2012). As Andrew Samuels (2012) points out, this
could be Jung’s century that sees a significant resurgence of attention to
the strengths of his contribution. In terms of psycho-discursive analysis,
Jung offers an applicable model of the psyche that I adopt here.
A significant point of difference between Jung and Freud developed
through Jung’s concept of a collective unconscious—this being a set of
shared psychic structures within all human minds that are fundamental to
all psychological development:
My thesis then, is as follows: in addition to our immediate consciousness,

which is of a thoroughly personal nature and which we believe to be the only
empirical psyche (even if we tack on the personal unconscious as an appendix),
there exists a second psychic system of a collective, universal, and impersonal
nature which is identical in all individuals. This collective unconscious does not
develop individually but is inherited. It consists of pre-existent forms, the
archetypes, which can only become conscious secondarily and which give
definite form to certain psychic contents. (Jung 1968:43)
Before going any further, it is important to confront some common mis-

conceptions of Jung’s work. Jung did not overlook the significance of
culture and personal experience in the development of one’s own psy-
chology, characteristics, and personality. He recognized the importance of
culture in personal and collective contexts that were significant to indi-
vidual and group psyches. But deep beneath one’s personal unconscious
that is shaped by their own experiences and significantly influenced by the
society in which they live Jung proposed a shared psychic structure that is
universal and identical across all individuals.1 Stevens provides a rigorous
and compelling defense of Jung’s work:
What Jung was proposing was no less than a fundamental concept on which
the whole science of psychology could be built. Potentially, it is of compa-
rable importance to quantum theory in physics. Just as the physicist inves-
tigates particles and waves, and the biologist genes, so Jung held it to be the
business of the psychologist to investigate the collective unconscious and the
functional units of which it is composed – the archetypes as he eventually
called them. (Stevens 1994:47)
30 D. KELSEY
Jung conceived archetypes to be “innate neuropsychic centers processing

the capacity to initiate, control and mediate the common behavioral char-
acteristics and typical experiences of all human beings” (Stevens 1994:49).
For Jung, the role of personal experience further develops what already exists
within the individual mind (the Self) by stimulating the archetypes to their
potential rather than creating them. For example, Jung identified the
mother archetype. All individuals and their most distance ancestors have
needed a mother (or equivalent) in order to survive. Hence, Jung argued
that the mother archetype is one of our evolutionary components that
enables us to develop a necessary connection with the person (regardless of
gender) who will nurture us through a “mothering” role. But Jung
acknowledged the abstract tendencies of archetypes. So even in the absence
of a mothering figure (or to have a failed mother as a child) we might project
these archetypal qualities in other ways that seek comfort through other life
experiences or the expressions of mythological personifications.
It is crucial to clarify that Jung did not propose the concept of arche-
types as inherited ideas. Rather, he argued that an archetype was an
inherited mode of functioning that corresponded “to the inborn way in
which the chick emerges from the egg, the bird builds its nest, a certain
kind of wasp stings the motor ganglion of the caterpillar, and eels find their
way to the Bermudas. In other words, it is a pattern of behavior” (Jung in
Stevens 2016:85). Hence, I argue that it is misleading and reductionist to
engage in a nurture versus nature debate here. Neither is it necessary to
challenge or undermine the social constructionist approaches that are
common in the social sciences or particular forms of semiotics or discourse
analysis. This is far more complex than a simple nurture-nature debate.
Beyond what one might refer to as nurture (through social construction or
cultural exposure), Jung proposed “the archaic heritage of humanity” (see
Doty 2000:197) that was fundamental to unconscious and conscious
thought processes. According to Jung, the shared archetypal conventions
functioning at this level of the collective unconscious still needed envi-
ronmental signs and experiential stimuli in order to develop and become
actualized. What is crucial for Jung is that we are not born as blank slates;
the psychic qualities that form those archetypes are inherited through
evolutionary development and exist within us all—preloaded and awaiting
their use. This is why scholars such as Campbell have since argued that
myths are so recurring, perennial, and powerful—because they are universal
products of who we are.
Jung argued that these shared archetypal stimuli of the unconscious

develop personal complexes in the personal unconscious. These complexes
form the perceptions and “projections” (Jung 1959) of the individual. The
unconscious forms the shadow qualities that I return to later. Figure 2.1
(see Stevens 1994:49) portrays Jung’s model of the psyche across those
layers of the unconscious and conscious mind.
This diagram illustrates a significant model to consider within and
beyond the scope of critical discourse studies. It encourages us to think
beyond the parameters of textual, discursive, and social practices of lan-
guage, semiotics, and communication. It encompasses those conscious,
physical qualities whilst delving deeper into the psyche to account for
psychological stimulants and components of communication that we do
not consciously draw on when we think and interact. These aspects are
Fig. 2.1 Jung’s model of the psyche

32 D. KELSEY
significant since they form those archetypes, complexes and projections

that make meanings powerful and salient in their conscious and cultural
forms.
It does not matter if Jung at the time was unable to provide an
all-encompassing scientific, biological, or neurological theory of the mind.
It is also the case that theories of consciousness, which I return to in
Chaps. 6 and 7, will typically be non-falsifiable due to the parameters of
current scientific knowledge. This is not to suggest that theories of con-
sciousness are in anyway supernatural or paranormal. But the neurological
operations behind those binding mechanisms that we seemingly share are
simply not measurable within scope of current scientific theory. Jung’s
model is useful and suggestive since it depicts plausible levels of the
unconscious and conscious mind, which are still deemed by many to be
significant to the psyche, its mechanisms of meaning-making and the sal-
ience of mythology.
A psycho-discursive position in this respect accounts for some of the
affective qualities that we need to understand in relation to contemporary
politics. It provides a starting point for understanding why certain narrative
patterns, meanings and actions are so recurring, emotive, and persuasive.
For example, the language and agency of political populism might be
culturally formed, but the deeper archetypal stimuli and complexes
through which its mythology psycho-discursively develops, reflect that
mysterious glue that Harari spoke of earlier. Once entangled with ideology,
humans can create powerful ideas and stories that we choose to believe in,
through which we cooperate effectively.
Through his model of the psyche and concept of a collective uncon-
scious, Jung’s archetypal hypothesis made arguably his most significant
contribution to psychology. Furthermore, it is interesting that Jung’s
theory of the collective unconscious holds similarities with modern scien-
tific disciplines that have developed more recently, such as ethology and
socio-biology (Stevens 1994, 2002). Zweig and Abrams also explain how
anthropologists and socio-biologists have argued that “human evil is a
result of curbing our animal aggression, of choosing culture over nature
and losing contact with our primitive wildness” (Zweig and Abrams 1991,
xxi). Zweig and Abrams also refer to physician-anthropologist, Melvin
Konner who “tells the story in The Tangled Wing of going to a zoo and
seeing a sign that reads ‘The Most Dangerous Man on Earth’, only to
discover that he is looking in the mirror” (ibid.:xxi). The interdisciplinary
connections in Jung’s work across contemporary fields of science and
anthropology is impressive considering the time when he was developing

these ideas.2
But compared to the household name of Freud, Jung is not a prominent
public name in psychology or even in many academic circles of psycho-
analysis. There could be many explanations for this. Stevens (1994) puts
this partly down to the time when Jung proposed these ideas, which were
so incompatible with the general research interests and beliefs of psy-
chologists at the time. He also puts it down to Jung’s delivery of this theory
that was not supported by convincing enough evidence nor was it written
in an accessible style for most readers or researchers to understand.
Jung’s collective unconscious thesis was often subjected to accusations
of adopting Lamarckian biology, which proposed that ideas and images
could be genetically passed directly from one generation to the next. But
this criticism was inaccurate and, again, might be explained by the
impenetrable style of much of Jung’s work at the time. As Stevens points
out, Jung did make explicit efforts to differentiate his position from that of
Lamarck: “It is the predisposition to have certain experiences that is
archetypal and inherited, not the experience itself” (1994:54). Rather than
dismissing Jung’s archetypal hypothesis for a lack of scientific rigor, Stevens
argues quite the opposite, claiming that “the collective unconscious is a
respectable scientific hypothesis and one does not have to adopt a
Lamarckian view of biology to entertain it” (ibid.:54). Whilst this might be
the case, some critics have still discounted Jung’s work on the basis that it
cannot be objectively tested or falsified and therefore cannot be considered
as real science. I do sympathize with this argument and it should be
respected in relation to scientific disciplines, but it is equally important to
understand that for many anthropologists and psychoanalysts this is not a
problem. I agree that Jung provides an applicable conceptual grounding
that does help explain the affective qualities of mythologies through a
psycho-discursive analytical framework.
Even in his rigorous defense of Jung’s archetypal hypothesis, Stevens still
accepts an inevitable combination between inherited archetypal traits and
cultural diffusion in the formation of parallel myths from different—sup-
posedly disconnected—parts of the world. One cannot definitively list an
exact account of each exclusively innate archetypal phenomena or, alter-
natively, those cultural mythologies formed and shared via migration and
cultural diffusion. Many archetypal qualities and mythologies will inevitably
be the latter. But Wilkin provides a sound response to this element of
ambiguity that inevitably occurs from Jung’s approach. His position
34 D. KELSEY
explains why the archetypal qualities that Jung discussed are affective and
they operate on levels of embodiment that function beyond language and
representation:
Archetypes are surely connected to the body, form and movement, the
senses, experience of others and of our end and how we construct personal
and group reality. From these factors certain archetypes, such as child, are
formed. Our behavior and ideas are energized by these archetypes and
everything we do is an unconscious reference to these basic archetypes.
Designing a new car for example gains energy through archetypes of birth
and rebirth; a doctor gains the drive to learn and practice for forty years from
archetypes of life, healing, rebirth that are culturally reconstituted. In this
fashion, society’s roles are expressions of primitive reconstructed archetypes.
(ibid:15)
This is both a measured and applicable way of adopting Jung’s archetypal

hypothesis that recognizes those affective qualities that I am concerned
with in my analysis. These embodied aspects operate from our senses and
experiences through to our daily practices, interactions, and expressions.
Here we can see how the transpersonal scope of affective apparatus oscil-
lates between non-representational and representational qualities. Affective
apparatus functions across the transpersonal: from the neuropsychic and
archetypal foundations of the psyche through to the social, environmental,
and experiential affairs of individual and collective consciousness.
As we have seen, Jung argued that the collective unconscious consisted of
inherited instinctive mechanisms that operate beneath the social dynamics of
personal and collective forms of the conscious mind. In doing so, Jung
distinguished the collective unconscious from the personal unconscious and
consciousness. This is where I am interested in the interjections of ideology
across the transpersonal: the point where archetypal qualities provide
powerful and affective formations that can operate as vehicles for ideology in
their cultural environment. These cultural environments account for the
ideological persuasions and agendas of different social groups (like those
concerned in the case studies). Those instinctive mechanisms that stimulate
our unconscious archetypal qualities, combined with the eventual expres-
sions and ideological operations of storytelling, are where I am interested in
the power of affective mythologies. From the depths of collective uncon-
sciousness right through to the representational qualities of communication,
action, expression, interpretation, image, language, news, and politics.
SHADOWS AND PROJECTIONS

According to Jung, we repress certain personality traits because we learn
that they are undesirable traits that are unwelcome in our personal,
domestic, social, and collective lives: “Because it is contrary to our chosen
conscious attitude, the shadow personality is denied expression in life and
coalesces into a relatively separate splinter personality in the unconscious,
where it is isolated from exposure and discovery” (Zweig and Abrams
1991:12). In other words, the shadow is the “part of the personality which
has been repressed for the sake of the ego ideal” (Whitmont 1991:12).
Jung argued that unless we learn more about our own shadows, we will
continue to project them on to others, because what we see and dislike in
the world is often a reflection of our shadow traits. Jung saw those things
which irritate us about other people as traits that we can identify in our-
selves. But often, instead of recognizing our own human failings and
negative (repressed) qualities, he said we tend to project them on to others
by criticizing their actions, personalities, or beliefs:
A projection invariably blurs our own view of the other person. Even when
the projected qualities happen to be real qualities of the other person … the
affect reaction which marks the projection points to the affect-toned complex
in us which blurs our vision and interferes with our capacity to see objectively
and relate humanly. (Whitmont 1991:13)
This happens to social groups as much as individuals and has a significant

impact on political tensions and polarizations. The shadow becomes a
powerful, affective dynamic of ideology in discursive constructions of
mythology. This happens to people, groups, institutions, and nations:
Whilst most individuals and groups live out the socially acceptable side of life,
others seem to live out primarily the socially disowned parts. When they become
the object of negative group projections, the collective shadow takes the form of
scapegoating, racism, or enemy-making. To anti-Communist Americans, the
USSR is the evil empire. To Moslems, America is the great Satan. To Nazis, the
Jews are the vermin Bolsheviks. To ascetic Christian monks, witches are in
league with the devil. To South African advocates of apartheid or American
members of the Ku Klux Klan, blacks are subhuman, underserving of the rights
and privileges of whites. (Zweig and Abrams 1991:xx)
Jung argued that if we do not come to terms with our shadow or try to
understand those repressed qualities then they can become destructive
36 D. KELSEY
when left unaddressed or continue to surface through our projections. As

we see in the case studies, projections often result in the scapegoating of
groups who are deemed to pose a threat to the perceived ideals of a society.
In doing so, simplistic polarizations suppress the complexities or contra-
dictions that do not suit the ideological perspective concerned.
But it is important to understand a point that Jung raised here regarding
the cultural experiences behind the affective dynamic of the shadow. We
can list all those things that we believe are undoubtedly the traits of our
darkest human qualities, but the shadow experience is not one of
pre-loaded moral values; rather it accounts for the neuropsychic qualities
that enable us to differentiate between what we have learnt to be the
acceptable and unacceptable behaviors in our societies. Different societies
or groups within will teach different values of course:
Many forces play a role in forming our shadow selves, ultimately determining
what is permitted expression and what is not. Parents, siblings, teachers,
clergy, and friends create a complex environment in which we learn what is
kind, proper, moral behavior, and what is mean-spirited, shameful, and sinful.
The shadow acts like a psychic immune system, defining what is self and what
is not-self. For different people in different families and cultures, what falls
into ego and what falls into shadow can vary. For instance, some permit anger
or aggression to be expressed; most do not. Some permit sexuality, vulner-
ability, or strong emotions; many do not. Some permit financial ambition, or
artistic expression, or intellectual development, while some do not. (Zweig
and Abrams 1991:xvi)
So, the way our psyche operates (those behavioral patterns) in response to
what we learn is where the shadow experience occurs universally in us all.
Hence the shadow can also contain positive traits since it might be that
personal or social circumstances have seen particular characteristics of the self
be repressed and pushed back to the shadow since they are not welcome or
comfortable traits for one to display in their social or domestic environment.
Some societies have seen shifts in values where shadow traits have been
escalated into public consciousness. For example, “wife battering and child
abuse used to be hidden away in the family shadow; today they have
merged in epidemic proportions into the light of day” (Zweig and Abrams
1991:xxi). Certain social taboos become repressed by those domestic units,
social systems and public/political institutions that are designed and
maintained by humans. It takes progress both collectively and ideologically
to move beyond those restrictive and resistant mechanisms that stop us

from discussing the darkest failings of our societies. As we shall see, indi-
viduals become caught up in moral dilemmas where their own positions
leave them powerless, despite their knowledge of wrongdoing, as they
remain silent instead of speaking out against more powerful groups or
figures who exercise the darkest traits of humanity.
The parallels I later draw with Dickensian storytelling are significant in
this respect. Dickens’ commentary at the time reflects the illusion that
British society lived under through its failure to address those institutional
shadows that were rife with corruption. The scandals in Rotherham and the
BBC reflect similar traits that went unaddressed for decades. Furthermore,
the political and financial elites and bureaucracies that Dickens commented
on, often satirically, also connect to the distrust and resentment we see
expressed towards those political and financial figures in Chaps. 3 and 4.
So, whilst I pay most explicit attention to the shadows and projections in
Chap. 5, they are by no means limited to that case study. Readers will
identify this dynamic within and beyond the stories in each case study. As
Zweig and Abrams point out, modern news media has set the stage for our
collective shadow on a daily basis:
Today we are confronted with the dark side of human nature each time we
open a newspaper or watch the evening news. The more repugnant effects of
the shadow are made visible to us in a daily prodigious media message that is
broadcast globally throughout the modern electronic village. The world has
become a stage of the collective shadow. (1991:xix)
In the final case study on Russell Brand, we see Jungian qualities in Brand’s
own practices where he shows an awareness of his shadow and our moral
failings as a society that he is part of. Brand attempts to withdraw the
projections of his shadow on others. This example raises another important
Jungian concept that is relevant throughout the case study chapters:
individuation.
SHADOWS AND INDIVIDUATION

Brand provides an interesting example of Jungian individuation in his own
psyche and spiritual practice. Brand’s spiritualism goes as far as explicitly
invoking the cosmic function of mythology discussed in Chap. 1. He
38 D. KELSEY
proposes a collective mythology that accounts for the wonders of science

and religion in order to understand consciousness on a higher level than we
are currently and collectively managing. Brand seeks to critically reflect on
his own flaws and failings by reconnecting with a greater truth and a
collective consciousness beyond his selfish traits and materialistic tenden-
cies. This is where Brand aspires to see a form of collective individuation.
He argues that innate goodness in us all is becoming repressed by ten-
dencies that draw on other less desirable traits when societal values become
overtly materialistic and individualistic. Jung argued it was vital for indi-
viduals to understand their shadow by integrating the personal and col-
lective unconscious through a process of individuation. Due to the scope of
my analysis, and the point we eventually reach in the Russell Brand case
study, I take a multi-layered (threefold) approach to Jung’s concept of
individuation.
Firstly, this accounts for a process that is sometimes referred to as
self-realization or self-actualization (Stevens 1994). This explains the
integration between the personal and collective unconscious and the
conscious self. This enables‚ for example, a more integrated understanding
of one’s own shadow complex; critiquing and challenging their ideological
biases and prejudices in order to live a more fulfilled life (changing how
those affective qualities of the shadow previously shaped their own
behaviors and attitudes). Zweig and Abrams adopt the following definition
here: “Individuation—the process of a person becoming whole and unique
—aims at embracing the light and dark simultaneously to create a con-
structive relationship between the ego and the self (our personal symbol of
individual wholeness)” (1991:240). This intended outcome here is similar
to the notion of self-actualization that Maslow (2013) proposed—at least
through the qualities and characteristics that he outlined in cases of
self-actualized individuals.3 So it is firstly important to understand that by
confronting the personal shadow we can manage those less desirable
human traits that affect our behavior and personality.
Secondly, as discussed earlier, shadow projections are not limited to
individuals since we can identify such traits in the projections of collective
complexes amongst social groups. Therefore, individuation also accounts
for the self-actualizing qualities that particular groups, institutions, and
nations need in order to confront their shadows. This second level is key to
what Brand is calling for on a collective level. Brand sees a universal
engagement with our personal and collective unconsciousness as the
answer to creating a new mythology of unity that he argues we need to

enable a fairer social system (new ideology) for us to live within.
Thirdly, I account for other transcendent qualities that are essential for
the reproduction and maintenance of mythologies that we have lived by for
centuries and still rely upon to make sense of the supposedly “unknowable”
(partly in light of Campbell’s four functions discussed earlier). This third
layer does not share the same fascination that Jung had with the biological
principles of living organisms beyond humans, including the work of
inorganic matter that he saw as possessing its own process of individuation
(Stevens 1994:81). Although this is a fascinating premise, the latter is
beyond the scope of this project and takes a different focus to my approach
here. Nonetheless, it is interesting that Jung’s ideas share similar ground
with current philosophical debates around panpsychism—a metaphysical
theory claiming that all matter has consciousness.
I use this third level of individuation to understand what Brand is
proposing through a transcendent connection with the unknowable that all
of us share but are yet to discover. This is not to become suddenly myste-
rious, spooky, or cryptic in the latter stages of my case studies. Neither does it
suggest we can never understand more about consciousness. I am merely
attempting to understand the affective level through which Brand is com-
municating: a willing acceptance that there might be a level at which we can
never know the meaning or explanation for life and it might even be possible
that there are senses and levels of consciousness to access beyond anything
we are able to understand. It is from this position that we see Brand
defending a belief in God that does not follow traditional doctrine in a literal
sense. Rather, it transcends to another level beyond the literal interpretations
of religion to engage with the metaphorical and shared, universal compo-
nents of all humans (in the affective mythologies that have shaped the
societies we live in). Therefore, in the Brand chapter, I discuss the spiritual
and mythological substance of what he proposes through the notion of
collective individuation. The latter is what a Jungian would argue we need if
we are to overcome the uglier aspects of society in the other case studies.
Through a synergy of Jungian archetypal theory and the refined frame-
work of DMA there is a compelling case to make for rediscovering what
Campbell called as “power of myth” (1988). By adopting Jung’s work, which
was influential in Campbell’s own research, we can begin to understand
why we need to study mythology as much now as we ever have. My case
studies will analyze reader responses to news stories as well as the discursive
construction of the stories themselves. I give particular attention to the
40 D. KELSEY
ideological divisions and tensions that arise amongst the collective, which
reflect Jungian traits discussed so far in this chapter. Through my analysis I
argue that the affective and ideological mechanisms of mythology can make
or break the societies in which we live, depending on our own ideological
preferences. The final section of this chapter discusses the affective archetypes
and mythological conventions that are analyzed in the case studies.
AFFECTIVE ARCHETYPES: HEROES, TRICKSTERS, CHILDREN

Archetypes take on a powerful form in the ways that we tell stories to
provide meaning. From the collective unconscious through to the social
and cultural salience of consciousness, we can analyze the affective trajec-
tory of archetypes as they become personally and collectively fused within
popular narratives and stories of our times. This section provides an
overview to introduce further archetypal qualities that are most significant
to my case studies. Although each case study mainly focuses on a specific
archetype, it is useful to discuss them at this stage since each case will reflect
multiple archetypal traits. I begin by discussing the monomyth (1959,
1988, 1990; Lule 2001), followed by the trickster (Kelsey 2014; Campbell
1988; Hynes and Doty 1993) and children (Jung 1959; Myss 2013),
including a brief analysis of Oliver Twist (Wilkin 2012).
Monomyth
Campbell (1949) examined the historical and cultural traits of hero figures
that occurred through ancient mythology and continue to feature in
contemporary society. Of course, the specific qualities of a hero will be
defined by the social group in which they exist and the moral codes they
reflect—hence Campbell’s work examined, as he called it, “The Hero with a
Thousand Faces” (1949). But there was a cyclical pattern to these stories
that stimulated the formation of these characters and the journeys they
pursued. Like Jung, it was this recurring behavioral pattern that interested
Campbell, especially in the way that it informed the construction of a
familiar and recognizable story from so many different times and cultures.
Lule adopted Campbell’s work through his own analysis of journalistic
storytelling:
The Hero myth, like many archetypal stories, often takes on similar forms
from age to age. The Hero is born into humble circumstance. The Hero
initiates a quest or journey. The Hero faces battles or trials and wins a decisive
victory. The Hero returns triumphant. The pattern, in more or less detail, can
be found throughout mythology. (2001, 82)
The hero’s journey is one of the most familiar narratives of mythology that
we see commonly played out in fictional and non-fictional stories. It is a
moral form of storytelling that we often use to reflect upon our own life
challenges, experiences, and journeys. Its cultural prominence makes it
particularly significant if we do not stop to question the ideological con-
structions and discursive substance of stories that feature this archetypal
pattern. Equally, it is important to remember that the ideological inter-
pretations of one reader might feature an archetype that is used to make
sense of a story, whilst a different reader might apply an entirely different
reading. As we see in Chap. 3, some readers recognize archetypes in stories
and choose to reject what they see as the ideological preference of the
storyteller.4
As Campbell showed, hero figures do not carry a monolithic form or set
of characteristics and values. Heroes are dramatized and personified to
reflect the core values and ideals of the societies in which their stories
feature (Lule 2001:82). The multiple forms they take on mean that they
could be “warriors or pacifists, leaders or rebels, saints or sinners, rocket
scientists, rock musicians, or sports stars” (ibid., 83). The form that a hero
takes on is largely dependent on context; a hero’s role is dependent “on the
world he is born into” (Carlyle 1908:312). In Chap. 3, for example, Farage
takes on a rebellious role in the values that he holds and celebrates. Farage
does not reflect the values of any individual society as a whole, but certain
values that exist within society, or in other words, the ideological agenda
that he serves. It is Farage who presents himself as the man who knows
what is best for the nation—at one stage in the analysis we see this artic-
ulated through spiritual connotations of a deeper feeling, knowledge and
truth that is beyond rational explanation.
As Boorstin points out, “We have become self-conscious about our
admiration for human greatness” (1979:51). This has had a significant
impact on the role of heroism in modern storytelling. Boorstin argued that
we create pseudo-heroic characters through celebrities that serve a tem-
porary interest and reflect values in certain contexts before later being
discarded. Other scholars have recognized modern heroes as disposable
characters that serve a purpose at one moment in time (Lule 2001;
42 D. KELSEY
Campbell 1949; Boorstin 1979). In other words, it is not necessarily the

individual that we believe in but rather the values that they represent.
The characteristics that Farage carries in these stories show that
mythological heroes are not faultless characters (Lule 2001; Campbell
1949). Lule’s point that we see through and past the classical Hero myth
due to its cultural familiarity is important. In contemporary storytelling, we
often need the faults and follies of hero figures to make them believable or
more realistic than disposable celebrities—this is a trait that is particularly
relevant to Farage. As we see, Farage uses certain faults, quirks, and
character traits to his advantage since they function coherently within this
modern archetypal form. Farage differentiates himself from the political
class by molding his trials and tribulations into a context that plays into the
image he and his supporters try to personify.
The persona is an important Jungian term (particularly in the case of
Savile), since the persona is a concept that Jung proposed as “a kind of
mask, designed on the one hand to make a definite impression upon
others, and on the other to conceal the true nature of the individual”
(1992:192). For Farage, these characteristics function with other con-
ventions of the monomyth: the hero pursues a journey (moral mission)
on behalf of societal values and a greater common cause. This mission is a
significant aspect in the archetypal conventions that I focus on in the
analysis of Farage in the Mail Online. However, there are other qualities
that are not the focus of my Farage analysis yet they are relevant to his
persona and political objectives. Those are the qualities of the trickster.
Trickster
Tricksters have appeared in many forms from different cultures and
mythologies over time. Often as anthropomorphic characters in fairy tales
and classical myths they appear as animals such as the fox, the rabbit, the
raven, the bear, or the coyote. There are endless examples of trickster tales
that resonate through the parallels they reflect with the political and social
affairs of modern societies and cultures. Joseph Campbell defined the
trickster figure through a range of characteristics. Notably, these are not all
negative either:
Almost all non-literate mythology has a trickster-hero of some kind… And

there’s a very special property in the trickster: he always breaks in, just as the
unconscious does, to trip up the rational situation. He’s both a fool and
someone who’s beyond the system. And the trickster represents all those
possibilities of life that your mind hasn’t decided it wants to deal with. The
mind structures a lifestyle, and the fool or trickster represents another whole
range of possibilities. He doesn’t respect the values that you’ve set up for
yourself, and smashes them. … The fool is the breakthrough of the absolute
into the field of controlled social orders. (1993:2)
Due to these characteristics, Abrahams describes the trickster as ‘the most

paradoxical of all characters in Western narratives—at least as far as the
Western mind is concerned—for he combines the attributes of many other
types that we tend to distinguish clearly’ (ibid.:17). He claims that the
trickster can fulfil a variety of roles at various moments in time: ‘… clown,
fool, jokester, initiate, culture hero, even ogre… He is the central character
for what we usually consider many different types of hero narratives’
(ibid.:17). More specifically, and appropriate for Chap. 4’s analysis of
bankers, Radin focuses on darker and more destructive aspects to this figure:
Trickster is at one and the same time creator and destroyer, giver and negator,
he who dupes others and who is always duped himself. … He possesses no
values, moral or social, is at the mercy of his passions and appetites, yet through
his actions all values come into being. (Radin 1956:xxiii)
According to Lule, the trickster is, ‘one of the most fascinating and
complex mythological figures found in hundreds of societies’ (2001:24)
and is more than just a sly, cunning, or devious figure. Tricksters contain
traits that complicate their appearance. The trickster is often portrayed as a
‘crude and stupid figure, half animal half human’ (ibid.:24). Lule addresses
these traits in news stories:
News too often tells stories of crude, contemptible people, governed by

seemingly animal instincts, who bring ridicule and destruction on themselves.
In some stories, stupid criminals, dumb and dangerous athletes, hapless hit
men, classless and crude rich people are offered up in the news as objects for
mockery and contempt. (ibid.:24)
Hyde (1998) and O’Donnell (2003) have both explored the paradoxical
mechanisms that trickster stories often reflect in various contexts. Hyde
argues that tricksters are complex and often ambiguous in their contra-
dictory characteristics: ‘Trickster is the mythic embodiment of ambiguity
and ambivalence, doubleness and duplicity, contradiction and paradox’
(1998:7). Hyde further claims, ‘trickster stories are radically anti-idealist;
44 D. KELSEY
they are made in and for a world of imperfections… In fact, it may be

exactly because these stories do not wish away or deny what seems low,
dirty and imperfect that their hero otherwise enjoys such playful freedom’
(ibid.:91). Therefore, tricksters are figures who can, by nature, cross
boundaries or create shifts in perceptions of their characteristics.
As Chap. 4 shows, the banker as trickster is a discursive complex that
develops through our attempts to understand the complicated politics and
paradoxical contexts of the banking crisis. The recent turmoil in global
financial markets that has prompted serious accusations of fundamental
flaws (failures) in contemporary capitalism are systemic features. Formed
historically and culturally, these systems have not simply evolved by nature
or chance. Whilst individuals working within the financial institutions
might be partly responsible, they are essentially products of ideological
structures and practices occurring over time. Yet, as we see in Chap. 4,
moral storytelling often scrutinizes bankers as individuals; using archetypal
conventions to explain their actions, values and behaviors. This focus on
individuals sometimes suppresses systemic scrutiny, whilst other stories did
raise systemic questions and dilemmas.
These paradoxical mechanisms of trickster mythology reflect the kind of
stories that Street referred to: ‘To question everything in society would lead
to anarchy; to preserve everything would lead to stagnation; the conflict is
presented, and the balance achieved, in the trickster tales which so many
societies possess’ (1972:19). The attention my analysis gives to instances
when systemic discourses are both suppressed and mobilized by trickster
mythology demonstrates the paradoxical traits of the trickster. It is not that
the Mail, in its criticism of bankers, has become ideologically opposed to the
systemic design and hegemonic ideals of free market capitalism. Rather, a
dilemma occurs when the Mail represents bankers as the problematic indi-
viduals who take advantage of the system: whilst these criticisms call for
some form of punishment or legislation to control the problem, there is
reluctance to compromise hegemonic ideals of the free market. As I show,
the notion of state regulation causes a discursive (and ideological) paradox.
Trickster can be the stimulating mechanism that sheds light on a shadow
by getting us to retrieve those aspects from our unconscious—good or bad
—that we might have repressed individually or collectively. Farage reflects
trickster qualities: through his ability to push boundaries and call for
change; creating the perception of taking on the establishment; saying the
unexpected (often deemed offensive); an uncompromising ability to survive
or maintain popularity when other politicians would fail. I also see his
popularity and referendum outcome as being reflective of a melancholic

shadow in the British national psyche. From Farage to bankers and even
Russell Brand, the case studies will reflect multiple forms of trickster
mythology in the moral tales of those stories. For these reasons tricksters
are often seen as amoral (rather than immoral) characters.
Jung’s following point is worth bearing in mind as trickster qualities
arise across each case study—especially in the differences we see between
Farage, bankers, and Brand: “As an unconscious complex, Jung writes, the
trickster can erupt in savage, animalistic, and often self-destructive behav-
iors, but if assimilated into conscious awareness and nurtured through
humor, it can become creative, spiritual and life-affirming” (Frentz
2008:61). Even in instances when a trickster appears to be foolish or
self-destructive, they reflect something about the societal circumstances in
which they are situated. They make us reflect and stimulate potential
change. So, tricksters break down barriers in different ways that we do not
expect to see—some might challenge authority whilst others might chal-
lenge our own expectations or prompt reflection on those aspects that we
are least comfortable confronting from our unconscious shadows (both
individual and collective).
The archetypal traits I have discussed so far in this chapter are often
wrapped up in the deep and complex constructions of characters and
stories reflecting on the societies in which they are written. The final
archetype I discuss prior to my case studies is that of the child. In doing so,
I provide a secondary account of Wilkin’s analysis that studied Jungian
archetypes in relation to Oliver Twist. This provides a detailed example of
how the child archetype operates in relation to other Jungian concepts
discussed already. I also use this account of Dickensian social commentary
as a juxtaposition to the Rotherham and Savile cases in Chap. 5.
Child Archetypes and the Case of Oliver Twist

Child archetypes are multi-faceted complexes that we identify with through
past experiences of growing up: orphan child (abandoned child); magical
child (innocent child); wounded child; eternal child; divine child; nature
child (Jung 1959; Myss 2013). Jung said that in all adults there “lurks a
child—an eternal child, something that is always becoming, is never
complicated, and calls for unceasing care, attention, and education” (2014,
17:286). For this reason, we not only understand children through these
46 D. KELSEY
archetypes but we can understand some of our own behaviors through the
archetypal child qualities within us. These archetypal qualities also stir up
strong emotions through stories and events in which we see a child
suffering or in vulnerable circumstances. As adults, our archetypal qualities
of nurturing and parenting help us bond both with our own children, but
these affective qualities also stimulate collective empathy for children and
connect us in our shared anger at the treatment of children in tragic
circumstances.
In a Jungian analysis of Oliver Twist, Wilkin shows how characters
throughout the story reflect archetypal traits that function through the
social commentary that Charles Dickens provided at the time: “The novel’s
power is based upon its submersion into a host of primal myths … that
create emotional responses within the reader, additionally charged by
objective and personal responses to injustice and victimization” (Wilkin
2012). Wilkin adopts an approach where, much like the transpersonal,
symbolic presentation (Connor 1996:22) occurs through the tensions
between the unconscious and personal experiences:
Oliver Twist is here viewed as a novel of ‘symbolic presentation’, agreeing with

the proposition that literature gains its narrative power from cultural and
unconscious primordial image resonances that confirm and conform to specie
nature, responding to archetypal images and narrative structure that touch
upon fundamental existential themes and interests. The soul, or cultural
synthesis, ‘expresses itself in a universal language of symbols.’ This approach
references the belief that externality not merely provides evidence of the
mind/soul but is part of its nature. Artistic achievement becomes the result
of tension between the collective unconscious and personal development, or
ego. (Wilkin 2012: 2)
As Dickens said after he wrote Oliver Twist, he “wished to show, in little

Oliver, the principle of Good surviving through every adverse circumstance,
and triumphing at last” (ibid.:3). So not only do we see the monomyth
functioning here through Oliver overcoming the dangers, abuses and
challenges of growing up as a poor child in Victorian London, but the ways
in which those conditions of London at the time are contextualized for the
reader draw upon other archetypal conventions to harness Oliver’s inno-
cence and divinity throughout the story: “For the first eight chapters of
Oliver, an illegitimate child born to his dying mother in a workhouse,
context and language show the hero at the behest of unaccountable
institutions, run by people driven by ideology, finance and selfishness. …

Oliver is subject to a range of abuses but remains unchanged and incor-
ruptible. He never identifies with or becomes like his abusers” (ibid.:3–4).
Wilkin argues that the novel consists of a “continuous battle between
good and evil, God and Satan, or, perhaps more accurately, victim and
aggressor. In all, the novel gains its energy from three archetypal sources
operating at different parts of the narrative, the Outcast-hero, journey,
divine child” (ibid.:17). The social commentary that runs through Dickens’
work “presents the view that it is nurture not nature that forms people,
while also dismantling his position through Oliver’s innate gentlemanly,
middle-class characteristics”. This is significant since it reflects the Jungian
oscillation between nurture and nature: how on the one hand we carry
innate archetypal forms of the unconscious but on the other hand these can
only operate through nurture and culture.
Dickens was skeptical of those in authority and upheld “the desire to
make people better, and the provision of means to achieve this through
kindliness and not individualism/selfishness” (ibid.:8). Through socio-
logical and psychological observation, Dickens depicts the absurdities of
state institutions at the time, which pursued power and control through the
image of providing help to improve the lives of the poor. In an interview
with Armando Iannucci (2016), a group of practicing barristers reflect on
the contemporary relevance of Dickensian commentary in relation to the
law: “He [Dickens] was out to pillory the way in which institutions can
evolve so that they’re there to serve as much the interests of the practi-
tioners to the detriment of the vulnerable, the poor and the needy, as they
are to right the wrongs of society”.
In the case of Oliver, his experiences depict the social care services as
nothing more than a diluted workhouse. Oliver’s adventures in the darkness
of the underworld are also connected to the primordial experience that Jung
had proposed (ibid.:8). Wilkin sees Oliver’s journey as a case of destruction
and restoration: “Through Hell Oliver arrives at self-actualization. This can
also be found in ancient myths, (Inanna) where goddesses descend into the
underworld. It is a myth of renewal.” (ibid.:21).5 Wilkin analyzes characters
and archetypal forms that construct Oliver’s journey and innocence as the
divine child. The Artful Dodger and Claypole are identified as Oliver’s
shadow forms in the alternative character traits that Oliver resists despite his
personal struggles and experiences (ibid.:7).
Fagin’s character is “presented as archetypal evil, with references to
reptiles and rats. When Fagin first meets Oliver, he resembles the devil.
48 D. KELSEY
Fagin is both a career criminal and, probably, a pedophile, a type rife in

Victorian London” (ibid.:7). Fagin appears as “the filius regius, a charis-
matic transformative substance waiting in the darkest depths,6 and infantile
shadow—or adult as bogey figure, inhabiting children’s dreams and adult
unconscious” (ibid.:27). As Wilkin explains, at the time of Victorian
London “there were a large number of street-children existing within the
city, ripe for exploitation” (ibid.:7). But as Wilkin points out, it was not
easy to comment or report on pedophilia to a Victorian audience.
Therefore, the reader identifies this through other implicit and archetypal
traits surrounding Fagin’s character and the social context of that time:
He [Fagin] is later described as emerging from his ‘den’ and more: ‘he glided
stealthily along, creeping beneath the shelter of the walls and doorways, the
hideous old man seemed like some loathsome reptile, engendered in the slime and
darkness through which he moved, crawling forth by night for some rich offal for
a meal’ (Oliver Twist, 121). Like Mephistopheles, he ‘glides’ rather than
walks, having also the attributes of the serpent, and Hermes, the Trickster.
Oliver shares with Fagin the Hermes archetype, but in the god’s bringer of
knowledge aspect, demonstrating the connection between Fagin and Oliver.
Of a chthonic nature Fagin is a primeval being, a shape-shifter in the guise of
a man, both bestial and superhuman. Fagin’s humanization at the end of the
novel testifies to his Trickster nature. … (ibid.:22)
The children in Oliver Twist are depicted as products of their upbringing

and the flaws of state institutions. They face neglect, abuse, and exploita-
tion within the state workhouses and the criminal underworld. Dickens’
observations that create the Fagin character and broader depiction of
Victorian London reflect similar concerns to the cases of Rotherham and
Savile. The social and state denial of failing institutions and hypocrisies in
the care system create stories of personal and institutional characteristics
that Dickens tried to comment on. This is not to make a tenuous com-
parison either. Rather, it reflects the social and institutional absurdities and
abuses that Dickens was articulating at the time, taking place through the
underworld—albeit recontextualized—in modern society.
In Chap. 5 I will argue that the cases of Rotherham and Savile
demonstrate parallels with the observations Dickens made through the
Jungian nature of his own mythology. It is not necessarily the case that we
eradicated the social ills of Victorian Britain. Rather, certain behaviors and
power abuse have either been suppressed or shape-shifted through modern
institutional hierarchies and bureaucracies. The vulnerability of children

remains but the power abuse operates through modern infrastructures. It is
when we try to face up to such shadows and understand what lies in the
darkness that we see ideology interjecting and manipulating perceptions of
the problems concerned.
A PSYCHO-DISCURSIVE FRAMEWORK
This chapter has provided a rigorous discussion of Jung’s work in relation
to other archetypal concepts that I will now apply in the case studies.
Chapter 1 and this chapter have explained the premise of affective
mythologies and how they operate across the individual and collective
dynamics of the transpersonal. This has enabled the DMA framework to
develop a psycho-discursive dimension to its analytical scope by incorpo-
rating a conceptual structure that I have called affective apparatus. Affective
apparatus accounts for Jung’s model of the psyche and the collective
unconscious, through to the ideological tensions of collective conscious-
ness. Shadows, projections, and individuation have all been defined
through this discussion of the psyche and its archetypal complexes that
develop through cultural experience. The archetypes of monomyth,
trickster and children have been defined and will continue to be theorized
throughout my analysis. Each case study over the next four chapters will
provide examples of affective mythologies in media and contemporary
politics. I begin with an analysis of monomyth (The Hero’s Journey) in the
media coverage of Nigel Farage, the EU and Brexit.
NOTES
1. Before coining the term “archetype” Jung discussed the Urbild (Meisel
2007), which accounted for deeper, primordial aspects of the uncon-
scious mind where he initially referred to congenital structures that
enabled representations to be formed. In 1938 Jung later refined this
aspect through the concept of biological behavioral patterns instead of
congenital structures (Papadopoulos 2006). Either way, for Jung, as
unconscious and instinctive stimuli operate they enable the expressive
forms of thought that both interpret and construct representations and
the semiotic in its conscious communicative form. In other words,
behavior patterns operate at the unconscious starting point of archetypal
development that function to expand through unconscious and eventu-
ally conscious levels of the personal psyche.
50 D. KELSEY
2. It is also worth noting that there have been fascinating debates in neu-
roscience around the evolution of the brain and subsequent dynamics of
consciousness (see Wetherell 2012:44). On the one hand, some argue
that biological and cultural developments of the brain “did not replace
these fundamental circuits of emotional readiness and experience, they
augmented them” (Oatley et al. 2006:146). Oatley et al. argued that
language, for example, has enhanced our emotional functionality but we
still express traits of our primitive selves that are not open to biological or
cultural modification (ibid.:146). On the other hand, some have argued
(Rose 1997, 2005) that rather than augmenting those fundamental cir-
cuits of emotions and primitive traits, the evolution of consciousness and
influence of culture has re-shaped and transformed potential emotional
responses according to our human circumstances (Wetherell 2012:44).
3. Whilst it is not necessary to adopt Maslow’s popular ‘Hierarchy of Needs’
model at this stage it is a useful point of reference to acknowledge. For a
brief but insightful overview of those characteristics that Maslow proposed
in instances of self-actualized individuals, see David Sze’s piece: http://
www.huffingtonpost.com/david-sze/maslow-the-12-characteris_b_783
6836.html
4. O’Donnell (2003) provides a detailed account of ‘interpretive commu-
nities’ in his analysis of myths in journalism: “This notion of interpretive
community is critical to any developed understanding of the way myths
are mobilized in … journalism …. It allows for a model in which myth is a
dynamic force embedded within other cultural and social forces rather
than a static model that sees myth as a static, individually crafted,
text-based object.” It is important to understand that interpretive com-
munity theory (see Kelsey 2014) accounts for the different ways in which
texts are read, consumed, and understood according to the conceptual
maps (and cultural knowledge) of audiences.
5. Jung: Man and His Symbols: 1964:59.
6. Jung, Alchemical Studies: 1967, pages 146–147.
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Cassires, E. (1946). The myth of the state. London: Yale University Press.
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CHAPTER 3
Hero’s Journey: Nigel Farage,

the EU and Brexit
Since 1991 the UK Independence Party (UKIP) opposed UK membership

of the EU and fought for a referendum. In 2015 David Cameron con-
firmed that he would allow the public to vote on its membership, as pro-
mised in the Conservative’s election manifesto earlier that year. On 23rd
June 2016, the United Kingdom (UK) held a referendum to vote on its
future membership of the European Union (EU). With a margin of 52–
48% the UK voted to leave. Polls and bookies beforehand had not pre-
dicted this. The campaigning in the run-up to the referendum was pas-
sionate and often divisive. Discursively and ideologically, a battleground of
ideas and values clashed through different constructions of British interests
and identities. Both sides were accused of being dishonest and scaremon-
gering. This was not a single issue about sovereignty, identity, immigration,
or economics. Many people voted for different reasons across the political
spectrum. A common connective theme running through many of these
different arguments was the concept of “taking back control”. Leave
campaigners repeatedly talked about “taking back control” from an une-
lected EU elite who impose laws, bureaucracy, regulations, and immigra-
tion on Britain.
For any student of mythology or discourse this provided a fascinating
albeit concerning spectacle. Britain was constructed by the successful Leave
campaign as the victim at the hands of the EU rather than an enormously
influential country within it. The Leave campaign was a familiar case of
populist mythology that sought to appeal to “the people” and take back
power from the elite. The campaigning itself (on both sides) warrants

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-60759-7_3
54 D. KELSEY
attention for the mythologies that operated through extraordinarily com-

plex and sensitive social and historical relations and conceptual positions.
But what I do in this chapter is look at how the UK ended up in this
position of a referendum in the first place. For Nigel Farage, the referen-
dum result was hailed as the UK’s Independence Day. This was the result
of a long campaign he had pursued and always insisted he would win. As I
will show, Farage’s story can be analyzed to identify one of the most
recognizable and powerful mythological traits: the hero’s journey (the
monomyth).
In this chapter I see modern populist parties—such as UKIP—as critics
of democracies that are claimed to be insufficiently democratic. They
demand “more direct power for ‘the people’—and less for the people’s
representatives” whilst protesting “the self-interest of politicians, parties
and parliaments who tend to forget their democratic mandate” (Pelinka
2013:7). Whatever their ideological agendas might be, populist parties and
movements make these claims by identifying with ‘the people’, not only
according to social class but rather by social difference: if ‘we the people’
are different to those who compromise the democratic interests of ‘us’ then
common unity and consensus interest is invoked through populist dis-
course. Populist rhetoric is affective through its arousal of emotions in both
those who believe in its calls for common unity and its critics who oppose
the dangers and threats that it poses.
The populist definition above reflects the binding, discursive mecha-
nisms that inform the rhetoric of UKIP and Nigel Farage: the EU and UK
politicians who support EU membership supposedly jeopardize UK
national interests. Through the analysis of this chapter I show how
mythological heroism (Campbell 1949) in the discourse of Farage
expresses these populist tendencies: through his image as a man of the
people who is different to other politicians and on a mission to win the
UK’s democratic power back from the EU. But it is not Farage’s EU
skepticism that automatically positions him as a right-wing politician; there
are specific contextual and discursive mechanisms that distinguish him from
other forms of left-wing populism and EU skepticism. These mechanisms
play an affective role through emotive notions of national interests and the
threat posed by the EU, which are delivered powerfully through the
monomyth that Campbell identified. The underdog status of Farage
fighting against the establishment is an affective mechanism that is
archetypally rooted across the transpersonal in the arousal of connections
between those who empathize with his cause and feel they share his
3 HERO’S JOURNEY: NIGEL FARAGE, THE EU AND BREXIT 55
concerns over national interests. This approach from Farage was shared
widely by other politicians throughout the referendum campaign. It was
the most effective and affective way of communicating a case to Leave the
EU. And it worked.
This is not to suggest that Farage deliberately looked to the work of
Joseph Campbell to form his political rhetoric. Much the opposite. It is
more significant that this monomythic archetypal form is so prevalent in
our humanness and fundamental to the journeys, interests, and agendas
that we pursue. This is one of the most affective archetypal conventions
that we draw on across the transpersonal, which is psychologically adopted
and culturally applied as a vehicle for ideology. After examining repre-
sentations of Farage and some of his own rhetoric in these stories, I will
move to focus on the user comments below the articles. These comments
reflect some of the affective connections between the story and reader; they
reflect interpretations of the story in its affective mythological form. The
popularity of comments suggests that the empathy (with “the people”)
Farage seeks to project through his rhetoric is encountered by some
readers, whilst other readers feel different emotions in their criticism of him
and how he is portrayed by the Mail. Whether readers are with Farage or
against him, monomythic populist rhetoric stirs the emotions of those
responding. As Campbell states: “Whether you call someone a hero or a
monster is all relative to where the focus of your consciousness may
be” (Campbell 1988).
For the context of this analysis, let’s consider Farage’s position in the
wider story unfolding beyond the articles themselves. Farage was not born
into “humble circumstances” in a social or economic context. He is a
wealthy individual from a wealthy background. But in the context of UKIP
and UK politics, Farage initiated his quest for independence from the EU.
In doing so, he established the humble circumstances of a political journey:
the beginning of a story in which he set out to take on the establishment
and political elite from his position as an out-numbered politician, leading a
minority party who supposedly meet the interests of “the people”, and
carry a message of truth that he proposed would save the nation. In the
articles I analyze, UKIP were at the time staking a claim as the UK’s third
party, believing in their goal of winning a referendum on EU
membership. During these stories, we witness the trials and tribulations
that Farage faces (personally and politically) and the storytelling techniques
56 D. KELSEY
used by the Mail and Farage himself in the discursive construction of a

controversial, charismatic, and rebellious “national hero”.
NIGEL FARAGE IN THE MAIL ONLINE

This analysis focuses on 2 articles (A1–A2), which were manually selected
from the news section of the Mail Online. A small sample allows me to
analyze A1–A2 in detail rather than extracting isolated themes or extracts
from a larger sample of texts. The articles reflect significant, recurring
constructions of Farage, they featured in one of the UKs most popular
right-wing newspapers and they were published on the most popular
newspaper website in the world. Readers who are familiar with UKIP and
the British media will recognize some of the characteristics, which are
reflective of a common persona around Farage in some of the right-wing
press. I am not making quantitative claims about a “dominant discourse”
here, since there are multiple discourses and representations of Farage,
many of which are critical of him. My aim in this is analysis is to show how
these stories function ideologically through the mythological hero arche-
type that draws on recurring themes in the discourse and rhetoric of
Farage. The headlines of A1 and A2 read as follows:
(A1)
FOAMING WITH FARAGE: 11AM AT A PUB AND A
GLORIOUSLY NON-PC AUDIENCE (AND BEER) WITH THE
IRRESISTIBLE FORCE BEHIND BRITAIN’S THIRD PARTY…
SORRY MR CLEGG, THAT REALLY IS UKIP
(Walters, Mail Online, 2012)
(A2)
SO, MR FARAGE, WHY DOES UKIP’S LEADER HAVE A
GERMAN WIFE?…AND DID SHE MAKE YOU KIP IN THE SPARE
ROOM OVER THAT ‘SEVEN-TIMES-A NIGHT FLING’ WITH A
LATVIAN?
• Love him or loathe him, Nigel Farage is impossible to ignore
• He dresses like a City trader, smells of fags and speaks from the hip
• The UKIP leader has been at death’s door three times in his 48 years
• ‘Circumstances have changed, things could really happen now’
(Fryer, Mail Online 2012)
Both headlines play on controversial character traits to introduce Farage.

But as we see below, neither article is critical of him. Rather, these traits
and controversies contribute towards the construction of a hero figure that
seeks to overcome the awkward questions he faces thus strengthening the
values and ideals that he holds. The Hero myth is played out through
various discursive themes and mechanisms that already appear in these
headlines. The interdiscursive and intertextual constructions of A1–A2
reflect the Mail’s ideological position through the following themes: crit-
icism of political correctness; preservation of traditional British values;
discourse of pro-Thatcherism; EU skepticism; and criticisms of the nanny
state.
An ideological square (van Dijk 1998) opens in the admiration and calls
for British traditions, characteristics, and attitudes in opposition to the
negative traits and interests (cultural obstructions) of the EU. But within
this discursive dynamic it is interesting that the “positive” British charac-
teristics are often called upon as qualities that have been undermined by the
political elite and face further threat from the EU. A1 and A2 play on the
idea that it takes a controversial character like Farage to rediscover and
embrace those characteristics that have become suppressed by the interests
of “political correctness” and EU legislation. The discursive dichotomies
that are drawn out between British interests and the EU construct the EU
as a foreign state who impose legislation upon the UK—rather than rec-
ognizing the UK as a highly influential figure that contributes to the
development of EU policy.
This analysis firstly covers the discursive elements that depict Farage on a
mission; establishing the Hero myth through a quest or journey (Campbell
1949; Lule 2001). Then I consider how Farage approaches this mission
through representations of his connection with the British public, the
obstacles he faces in criticism from domestic political elites, and his
opposition and defiance against EU politicians.
The Missionary with a Message

The headlines and bullet points above already describe Farage as “an
irresistible force” and “impossible to ignore”. Adding to this construction
of charisma and strong character A2 says he “dresses like a City trader,
smells of fags and speaks from the hip” and “has been at death’s door three
times in his 48 years”. The determination, ruthlessness and confidence of
Farage’s character are established early on in both articles with references
58 D. KELSEY
to his attitude (non-PC), appearance (dresses like a banker) and personal

fate (death’s door 3 times in 48 years). As we see throughout these articles,
the recurring references to excessive smoking and heavy drinking support a
contextual use of character traits that support notions of individualism in
Farage and the Mail’s shared opposition against the EU state. But firstly,
let’s consider some descriptions of Farage’s dedication to his cause, which
emphasize the concept of Farage on a journey—a quest for justice. This
journey is defined by his opposition to the EU:
‘I’ve felt from day one that being part of the European Union was a very,
very, VERY BAD thing for this -country. I can’t explain it, but I just KNOW
I’m right. And I’ve dedicated myself to it in a way I don’t suppose has been
wholly rational.’ He’s not joking. To spread his message, he gets up at 5am,
works seven days a week, travels on average eight hours a day to speak in
town halls and rugby clubs (‘I call it my Billy Graham tour’) and barely sees
his second wife, Kirsten, (from Germany, oddly enough) and two daughters -
his two sons from his first marriage are grown up now.
There is a significant biblical theme running through this extract. This is

evoked by Farage himself. Farage refers to the Christian evangelist, Billy
Graham as a side joke. But the analogy reflects a shared awareness of
archetypal conventions not just in the stories that we are told about others,
but in the stories people tell about themselves. Whilst Farage might not
equate himself to a religious figure spreading a message, this article adopts
that archetypal language since it is an appropriate metaphorical direction
for the story to take to articulate Farage’s dedication to his cause. Farage
says that his dedication is not “wholly rational” and that he “can’t explain”
his feelings but he “just knows” he is right. This takes the political and
ideologically informed opinion to a deeper, spiritual level of metaphor that
suggests there is something naturally, eternally, and instinctively right
about his feelings, which he cannot ignore. His heroic instincts inform his
dedication to “spread his message”.
A2 later features an account of other personal challenges that continue
this theme of fate: “The UKIP leader has been at death’s door three times
in his 48 years”. Of course, these accounts should be dealt with sensitively
since they are genuine and potentially tragic. There is no doubt that these
were awful experiences, which signify an extraordinary series of bad luck
that should not be overlooked. But when considering the representation of
these “brushes with death” (as A2 calls them) it is important to recognize
the interdiscursive themes that they invoke and how they contribute
towards the construction of a story:
The first was in 1985, when he 21 and working in the City, blowing most of
his money on nightclubs and booze (‘but never cocaine, thank goodness’)
and was run over on a pelican crossing after the customary liquid lunch and
after-work drinks. ‘They just didn’t see me. It was nasty, really nasty. I don’t
remember it or the hours afterwards, but my A&E notes said, lucid, but -
aggressive!’ he says proudly.
Even in this account of Farage after the accident he “proudly” refers to his
“lucid but aggressive” state. Emphasis on the suffering afterwards enhances
the sense of endurance that this story evokes throughout: “He was in
hospital for over 3 months, in plaster for 11 and plagued by tinnitus for
years”. Again, his other cases of misfortune add to this further still:
Then he got testicular cancer. ‘I was 22 and thought is this ever going to
end? After spending 11 months saving my life, the NHS nearly killed me’.
They kept misdiagnosing me. ‘I kept going back every week. A lump? I won’t
be crude, but it wasn’t good. I could barely bloody walk. It was awful.
AWFUL!’
This reference to the NHS is significant. Note that cancer did not almost
kill Farage. Neither was the individual diagnosis blamed. Rather, it is
specifically the NHS that is deemed responsible. Given the Mail and
Farage’s shared ideological standpoints there is a contextual significance to
this choice of phrasing, given the relentless criticism the NHS faces from
political sources.
Farage’s third account was supplemented by a photo of him being
pulled from a light aircraft after crashing in a field. Clearly conscious in the
photograph, it is possibly the most extraordinary case of all, given the
added impact of the image in the article. The account of this third incident
said: “His third brush with death came in 2010 during his (unsuccessful)
battle to win Speaker John Bercow’s Buckingham seat at the general
election, when his UKIP banner became-tangled around the tail fin of the
light aircraft he was flying in”. But then the context of this “brush with
death” was used more strategically by Farage and A2 to return to the
dominant, recurring themes of the article:
60 D. KELSEY
Needless to say, when he finally struggled out, he didn’t embrace

post-traumatic therapy. … ‘When they offered—herapy, I did rather scoff—
it’s just not my thing.’ Unsurprisingly, his recipe for recovery was a bottle of
red, a pack of fags and counting his blessings.
“Scoffing” at the prospect of post-traumatic therapy implies a British

stereotype of stiff upper lip attitudes following a traumatic experience.1 The
“bottle of red” and a “packet of fags” are a recurrence of the drinking and
smoking themes that often feature in Farage’s photos beyond A1–A2. They
are symbolic reminders of his opposition to the smoking ban and the nanny
state. This willingness to sacrifice his health and family life recurs in the
context of his commitment to his political beliefs and the mission that he
pursues. For example, A2 continues to ask Farage, “Why work 18-hour
days seven days a week and neglect your wife and health and two young
daughters?” A theme of determination and self-sacrifice informs Farage’s
response: “Because if I believe something’s right, I tend to pursue it.”
Supporting the notion that Farage is pursuing a moral agenda and evoking
a sense of principle these closing sections to A2 bind together the range of
characteristics that appear throughout. They are compatible with the
archetypal storytelling conventions of a hero overcoming challenges and
their commitment to a cause through self-sacrifice on their journey. The
article finishes as follows:
With that, we call it a day and Nigel Farage (who is surprisingly likeable, in a
camp, over-the-top way, though of course you’re not supposed to say)
hurtles off into the night to spark up a Rothmans, make a million phone calls
and limber up for his hundredth UKIP meeting of the day.
This provides a theatrical image of Farage moving on to continue his

journey with his smoking featuring again as a symbolic statement.
Constantly working and dedicated to his cause, this final description
contains various components that sum up the mechanisms of this article.
“Surprising likeable” acknowledges that his character and charisma have
won over the interviewer despite his reputation. As he “hurtles off into the
night” we see a tongue-in-cheek portrait of a classical hero figure. As he
goes to “make a million phone calls” and “limber up for his hundredth
UKIP meeting of the day” we are sarcastically reminded of his commit-
ment to the UKIP cause. What is interesting about the examples consid-
ered in this section is that we have seen explicit references to Hero
mythology (like the latter) articulated in a satirical or light-hearted manner.

But then other points throughout A1–A2 are contemporary recontextu-
alizations of the Hero myth and delivered in more implicit forms.
Straight Talking Man of the People

An image used on both A1 and A2 shows Farage leading a group with
placards calling for an EU referendum. One placard in the background also
says, “Nigel Farage, straight talking.” The details of A1 and A2 emphasize
characteristics that suggest Farage has a connection and empathy for a
significant proportion of the British public. His early drinking down the
pub in A1, with a “gloriously non-PC” audience, distances him from the
professional image of a typical politician, as if he is more honest and has
closer connection with members of the public. The description of “glori-
ously non-PC” is unashamedly opposed to political correctness and values
any rejection of such values. As an “irresistible force” we are immediately
introduced to the mission or quest dimension to Farage’s heroic figure;
UKIP have reportedly over taken the Liberal Democrats as Britain’s third
party. A1’s introduction is interesting since it features a number of inter-
textual and interdiscursive mechanisms in a relatively short sentence to
portray a particular concept of Britishness:
A pint of bitter in hand – never lager – spewing out pro-Thatcher,

anti-Brussels views sprinkled with politically incorrect jokes and a smoker’s
throaty laugh.
In the context of this article, “A pint of bitter” symbolizes his choice of a

British pint in contrast to lager, which in A1 is the alternative, continental
drink. Hence, the next part of the sentence refers to “pro-Thatcher,
anti-Brussels views”. The intentionality of this phrasing appears more
evident later in the article through the following account:
‘What are you having Nigel?’ shouts an aide when we are inside. ‘Something
foaming!’ booms 48-year-old Farage. A pint of ale is plonked on the table
and he takes a large swig. ‘First of the week,’ he declares with a jovial hoot,
having spent the first half of the week in lager-only Belgian hostelries.
The previous reference to “pro-Thatcher, anti-Brussels” aspires to a time

when Thatcher is remembered for opposing the EU to protect British
62 D. KELSEY
interests: “We have not successfully rolled back the frontiers of the state in
Britain only to see them re-imposed at a European level, with a European
superstate exercising a new dominance from Brussels”.2 As a Thatcherite, it
is within Farage’s interests to pursue an ideological agenda that seeks to
decrease the size of the state (or “superstate” in the EU’s case). Thatcher’s
statement is an open pledge and support for this ideological position. But
as we see in A1 and A2, other symbolic features—like the Britishness of
bitter versus European lager, amongst other binary oppositions—often
inform EU skepticism through an emotive and mythological invocation of
identity, symbolism, and implied national interests.
Note that Farage is also “spewing” Thatcherism. But read in the context
of this article, this is not a criticism: “spewing” reflects an anticipation of
oppositional agendas and suggests that Farage is stating opinions that have
somehow become marginalized, suppressed or at least undervalued by other
political influences that conflict with ‘traditional’ British interests. This
anticipation is an important tool of storytelling. As Whittle and Mueller
(2012) and Billig (1996) argue, storytelling in discursive exchanges requires
an element of ‘witcraft’ that is used in anticipation of, and to counteract
against, potentially oppositional perspectives or arguments. This is designed
to challenge and discredit or disqualify alternative viewpoints (Whittle and
Mueller 20123). In this case, these discursive mechanisms presuppose that
Thatcherism has been compromised, contrary to the preference of British
interests and a large proportion of its voters. The description of a “politically
incorrect joke and a smoker’s throaty cough” symbolizes traits of Farage’s
character that connote an anti-European position: it implicitly suggests that
political correctness is something imposed upon the nation by European
values that are tangential to British character, traditions, and interests. The
“smoker’s cough” is also an intertextual connection to the explicit criticism
Farage has previously expressed against the smoking ban, as an EU initiative:
“Nigel Farage Says Smoking Ban ‘Silly And Illiberal” (Morse, Huffington
Post 2013). Farage’s smoking recurs as a feature throughout A1 and A2 and
functions as an analogy in storytelling to portray values and character traits.
A2 also reflects a theme of public interest and empathy that disconnects
him from other politicians: “He’s also refreshingly unlike a normal politi-
cian. He’s not careful, smooth, or strategic. He dresses like a City trader,
smells of fags and wine and speaks from the hip.” What is interesting here is
that the Mail is often very critical of bankers (Kelsey 2014). But Farage is
accepted in the context of these articles. In this instance, Farage is a pro-
duct and benefactor of Thatcherism, neo-liberalism and a free market
project that has recently crashed and failed. But he is not associated with
the negative or heavily criticized parties within the banking sector. Instead
he is a supporter of the ideological and systemic structures that are cele-
brated and valued through the nostalgia of Thatcherism.
A1 also describes Farage is an “unashamed Thatcherite” which, again,
suggests he is pursuing ideals that are often unpopular or neglected by the
current, political elite: “And unashamed Thatcherite Farage has seized on
the gay marriage row to woo more disaffected Conservatives. Some Tory
MPs say UKIP’s growing popularity makes it impossible for David
Cameron to win the next Election”. Paradoxical persuasion (see Kelsey
2012, 2015a) in storytelling about Farage and UKIP occurs across this
political and journalistic landscape due to the risks posed to Tory interests
here. But this paradoxical element is not implicit or covered by layers of
discursive complexity in ways I have considered in previous research; in this
instance, it functions explicitly as part of the story itself since Farage openly
confronts the concept of serving contradictory interests when potentially
losing the Tories an election. The mythological hero dimension to Farage’s
mission says he will make and accept immediate sacrifices for a greater
good.
The fact that Farage left the Tory party 20 years ago due to his oppo-
sition to EU membership informs the construction of him as a character
who is taking risks against the popular will of mainstream politics. It might
seem clear from the coalition’s current austerity program that the
Conservatives still hold their fundamental, ideological agenda of
“rolling-back” the size of the state. But this is not radical enough for
Farage; his position suggests the Conservative party are not loyal to their
roots and this has proved divisive amongst right-wing political factions. But
it is also this radicalism that has provided Farage with another challenge to
overcome on his journey due to the criticism he has received from other
Conservative politicians, including Cameron himself.
Fruitcakes, Clowns, and Closet Racists

Farage has received heavy criticism from Cameron that has featured
commonly throughout media and political discourse beyond A1 and A2.
However, Cameron’s dismissal of UKIP emphasizes Farage’s position in
the Mail’s account since it features as a challenge that Farage, as a
misunderstood hero, commonly faces when they serve a greater good. A1
64 D. KELSEY
states: “Any idea of a Tory/UKIP pact to stop Conservative votes bleeding

to Farage was killed off last month when Cameron repeated his claim that
UKIP is full of ‘loonies, closet racists, and fruitcakes’”. A2 states: “Indeed,
the 20,000-strong party once described by Cameron as ‘fruitcakes, loonies,
and closet racists, mostly’ is having a purple patch, with commentators
talking of shifting ‘tectonic plates’ and describing their rise as ‘this -winter’s
biggest political story’.” Cameron’s insults (which are not supported by the
Mail in the broader context of this article) reflect the criticism and
opposition that hero figures often endure on their journey. The hero is
willing to endure this hostility, through the values they believe in and to
serve the interests they represent on the quest that they pursue. Farage’s
response demonstrates his opposition to the current state of party politics,
since the Conservative Party is seen to have betrayed its ideological roots:
‘If he wants to give us back-handed insults like that let him do it,’ barks
Farage. ‘We will not be doing business with that man while he is leader under
any circumstances. End of. … There isn’t a Tory Party any more, it’s gone.
Cameron’s got rid of it. It’s now just another brand of social democracy.’
This also reflects a recurring trait of right-wing discourses that are pes-
simistic about Cameron’s politics since they are seen to be “too soft” and
compromise fundamental ideals (Kelsey 2015b). Later in A1 Farage
expresses his defiance when addressing the possibility that his campaigning
could result in Labour getting into power:
Does it worry him that if he took more Tory votes, he could help socialist
Miliband win power? Farage replies with his trademark bluster and bravado.
What power? I spent 20 years working in the City and understand power. ‘As
I always say to people, I worked damned hard right up until lunchtime every
day! It doesn’t matter a damn whether Cameron or Miliband is in Downing
Street, we have given away the ability to run our own country. Would I have
a guilty conscience if the UKIP vote kept Cameron and his SDP Tory Party
out and put Miliband and his SDP Labour Party in? None whatsoever.’
Farage’s “bluster” and “bravado” sees him unfazed by the possibility of

right-wing politicians losing ground to a “socialist” in power. Again, his
EU skepticism informs this position since he represents his political target
as something beyond Downing Street. Farage believes “we have given
away the ability to run our own country”; implying that the EU have
disproportionate control over domestic affairs. The moral quest that Farage
pursues through the monomyth means he is willing to be unpopular and
accept an element of short term sacrifice. His long-term vision looks
beyond what he deems to be the irrelevant short-term concerns of current
domestic politics.
The theme of Farage’s successful, political endurance—for the sake of
ideological principles—also featured in his admittance of past UKIP
members holding extreme political beliefs:
He admits that ‘in its early days, UKIP attracted all sorts, religious fanatics
and others’ who were seen as ‘homophobic, the BNP in blazers’. But the
racists and bigots are gone, he claims. And, buoyed by the rising anti-EU
sentiment and disaffection with the three main parties, terrier Farage is
yapping at the heels of the big beasts, Cameron, Clegg, and Miliband.
This claims that UKIP has moved beyond the influence of these extremities
that have previously tarnished the party’s reputation. The Mail’s own
contribution constructs Farage as the underdog who is challenging the
mainstream by “yapping at the heels” of the “big beasts”. Farage’s claim
that the “racists and bigots are gone” signifies the negative associations that
the party has had to contend with to reach their current “popularity”. It is
interesting that whilst Farage claims the bigots are gone he is open about
his opposition to gay marriage. For Farage, this is not bigoted. He states:
“Gay marriage is illiberal because we are forcing millions of people to do
something that is anathema to them. Tolerance is a two-way street”.
Farage’s rhetoric swaps the conceptual role of social liberalism and
equality in a reversed discourse. He argues that supporters of gay marriage
(rather than opponents) are “illiberal”. Similarly, he has previously used this
term in relation to the smoking ban.4 This is a rhetorical technique used
against oppositional arguments that would identify a right-wing party as
being incompatible with socially liberal values. In these instances, Farage is
trying to preserve his own position of legitimacy by reversing the roles of
the oppressed and illiberal. This reversal technique also features in Farage’s
fears of EU nationalism that he is opposing in his quest to regain and
preserve national interests. There are familiar stereotypes that inform this
discourse.
66 D. KELSEY
British Bulldog Mocks European Union

Rather than allowing UKIP to be dismissed for encouraging nationalism,
Farage argues that the EU state is enforcing nationalist values:
This is the new nationalism. For German politicians in the European

Parliament it is acceptable to be deeply patriotic about the European flag and
not their own. Germany, Italy – there are many countries who feel they are
rubbish and they rather like a flag they can be proud of and an anthem they
can stand up to. The European project is now a project of nationalism – and
it is very dangerous.
This reinforces the idea that Farage is protecting British interests and trying
to preserve British identity by opposing a “dangerous” form of “new
nationalism”. Using Germany and Italy as examples of countries that lack a
proud past implies that the pride of Britain’s past is in danger of being
suppressed or compromised by an expansive project that seeks to impose its
values, universally, across all EU member states. A1 also explains how
Farage mocks and insults political peers: “He calls EU President Herman
Van Rompuy ‘Rumpy Pumpy’—even to his face—and is just as rude about
dour German Chancellor Angela Merkel”. A2 also features various
descriptions of his EU peers: “They have no life outside politics—they’re
desperate. DESPERATE! And so TERRIBLY DULL!’ he squawks. …
‘None of them pass the Farage test. Number one, would I employ them?
And number two, would I want to have a drink with them? No and NO!’”.
This emphasizes the concept that “they” (other EU politicians) are cul-
turally disconnected and incompatible with British life and pleasures, which
supports the macro messages of A1 and A2: Farage is protecting Britain
from those whose political and personal ideals are perceived to be at odds
with his ideals of British culture and interests.
What is interesting here is that A1 and A2 mention that Farage has a
German wife. In both cases this detail works to counter accusations of
being xenophobic or bigoted. A2 light heartedly depicts a domestic
stubbornness to Farage’s patriotism: “The couple’s two young daughters
speak English and German, though British Bulldog Farage refuses”. Farage
also makes a joke that plays into the straight-talking stereotype that both
articles play on: “But EU court jester Farage sees a political joke in that
too. ‘Being married to one, nobody knows more than me the dangers of
living in a German-dominated household!’” Nonetheless, it is clear in A2

that Farage makes a case against EU membership based on the economic
ideals of his ideological agenda. When asked what his wife thinks about
Europe he responds: “I don’t like to speak for her, but like all sensible
Germans she would have kept the Deutsche mark and a German model of
parliamentary democracy that since 1945 has produced one of the richest,
happiest countries in Europe”. So, in the context of having a German wife,
whilst making a case against the EU, Farage protects the proposal that his
agenda is based on political and economic principles rather xenophobic or
nationalistic ideals. His jokes about his family are used in attempts to dispel
any accusation of genuine prejudice.
It is also important to note that in A2 Farage describes Cameron as
“shallow” and “bland”, Miliband as “boring and geeky” and Nick Clegg as
“Nice enough, but what’s the point? You have to admit, there’s a bit of a
gap in the market right now, isn’t there?” These criticisms suggest that
Britain is being led by “bland” and “shallow” personalities; supporting the
concept of a powerless domestic state that follows the EU. As Farage earlier
stated in A1, “we have given away the ability to run our own country”.
These uncharismatic characters that Farage describes at home and abroad
all contrast with the outgoing, loud, and controversial characteristics of
Farage himself. As the hero figure in this story, Farage’s position suggests it
is better to have a purpose and principles than it is to be “dull”, “bland”
and “boring”. In the extract above Farage is also labelled a “British
Bulldog”. This slogan is a familiar stereotype of Britishness. Through
Churchillian connotations and connections to a wartime resistance against
other European powers, the ‘tongue in cheek’ conclusions of A1 support
Farage’s position. His EU criticisms and image of honesty are emphasized
from his willingness to make jokes about his domestic situation. Farage as
“British Bulldog” reflects the historical influence of national identity and
nostalgia that informs the construction of Farage’s interests throughout the
article. It suggests that there are historical ideals and traits of Britishness
that are currently jeopardized and need to be protected and celebrated.
Farage’s ideological position is expressed in the Hero myth, which is
told through the stories about him and his stories about himself. His
opposition to the EU mobilizes the journey that he pursues in these stories.
In A2 his smoking features again, as an act of defiance against the EU: “‘I
smoke too many. Too, too, too many. I did stop, but then they announced
68 D. KELSEY
the smoking ban and I thought, sod ‘em. So, I started again”. He then
refers to the career he gave up for his cause: “A former commodities trader
(tin and cocoa)—’I wanted to be a yuppie and make stacks of money’—he
helped set up UKIP in 1993 in protest at the Maastricht Treaty.” It is his
dedication to UKIP since the 1990s that symbolized his determination to
never give up on the cause he was fighting for.
But how do readers respond to these articles? Many readers will respond
to Farage in different ways—many voters who wanted to leave the EU did
not necessarily like Farage. But in responses to the claims and observations
I have made so far in my analysis, let’s consider how Mail Online readers
responded through their comments. Online user comments provide
another dimension to news article analysis that was previously absent in
print texts. User comments do not provide a systematic sample that can
inform generalized claims about public opinion or reader responses.
However, it is significant that readers can express their feelings in response
to an article in ways that they could not in the past and we are given an
insight to some of the affective-discursive loops that Wetherell discussed
earlier. Whilst reading habits have changed over time through the devel-
opment of online news, the Mail’s traditional conservative stance is not just
reflected by its news content but also by the content and ratings of its user
comments. It is significant that many of the most popular and unpopular
comments below connect with the mythological traits that I have discussed
so far.
MAIL ONLINE USER COMMENTS (A1–A2)

Out of 294 comments the top 10 “best rated” for A1 ranged from 1929–
1049 “green up” votes compared to only 104–136 “red down” votes.
Here are some examples:
C1: “Nigel Farage is the leader of UK’s FIRST party—Vote UKIP, Nigel
Farage for Prime Minister!”
C2: “Like him or loathe him he has more credibility than the LibLabCon
leaders combined and we really should give him a mandate by voting
UKIP.”
C3: “I’ve worked hard all my 60 years and always voted Tory. Never
again will I vote for a Tory government. I will vote UKIP from now
on. To my mind UKIP represent my personal views on Europe and
State”.
C4: “A breath of fresh air in politics. Even uses the ‘T’ word… Truth!!!”
C5: “Nigel Farage’s UKIP party will ultimately win through and take the
UK out of the mess that is called the EU. “Call me Dave” has
destroyed the Tory party. Come the next election, no one will vote
for the Conservatives. Good luck to Nigel. He has my vote.”
C6: “It is the only chance this country has, the Tories are finished and
quite simply no different in policy to the Labour party, false
arguments are made to give the pretense of difference. UKIP will be
smeared by the BBC and derided by the other parties but WE must
give them our vote to save Britain.”
C7: “All running scared here comes all the mudslinging. I wish people
would take a chance and vote for UKIP we need a complete change
in this Country. We keep going back and forth Tory, Lab. and the
country gets worse every time. We need somebody that will stand up
for this country and its people and I think this man can do it.
I understand people are afraid to change a life time of the same old
parties, but how can it be any worse than it is now. And how can we
expect to get change if we don’t do something about it ourselves.
Because voting for Lab, or Cons is not the answer. This Country
needs this to happen or we go under and be dominated by the EU.
God help us.”
C8: “Good for you Nigel. Can’t wait till 2015 and show those lilly livered
posh boys what this COUNTRY WANTS and more importantly
WHO it does not……..”
There is a recurring notion throughout these comments that Britain needs
“saving”, both from the EU and the mainstream parties in Westminster.
The anti-Tory stance is particularly prevalent here. C3 evokes a feeling of
betrayal and disillusionment after working hard for 60 years and always
voting Tory. C8 mocks the “lilly livered posh boys” of Westminster and
invokes a consensus statement for “what” and “who” the country does and
does not want respectively. The empathy that Farage evokes through his
rhetoric is reciprocated through the comments here that identify Farage as
a person who can represent traditional Tory voters who feel betrayed by
Cameron.
Interestingly, the “credibility” of Farage in C2 and the “breadth of fresh
air” in C4 reflect Farage’s ability to distinguish himself from the other party
70 D. KELSEY
leaders. For some readers, there is a clear affect felt through the clarity of
those archetypal conventions that function so distinctly in the ongoing
story (at that time) around Farage. Some of the comments reflect the
powerful and emotive connections that reader’s make through the national
interests invoked by Farage. The emotive appeal of an anti-establishment
rebel who can change a failing political system and save the nation from the
presupposed threats of EU membership is evident in the popularity of these
comments.
The “best rated” comments for A2 were also highly complementary of
Farage. More than 1000 comments were made on this article. The top ten
“best rated” comments received 4373–2064 “green up” votes compared
to 170–187 “red down” votes. Again, the “straight talking” characteristics
of a trust worthy man and politician affectively informed the responses of
some readers:
C1: Here we go, UKIPs popularity grows so let’s have a go at Nigel.

Why not have a go at 18 years of EU accounts not signed off by
auditors, 20% budget cuts except the EU or overseas aid budget,
3.5million more people in 2011 than 2001 mainly by economic
migration causing a shortage in housing, jobs, schools, maternity
units stretched etc. Former conservative voter, now voting UKIP!!
C2: I like him. Whenever he opens his mouth, he’s got something to
say, and even more amazing…it makes sense! He doesn`t waffle on,
speaks clearly and to the point. That’s more than Cameron, Clegg,
or Boris Johnson for that matter, have managed lately. Not
interested in his private life.
C3: The smear campaign has started.
C4: Gets my vote!
C5: I trust him far more than forked tongue Cameron, Clegg and
Milliband…!
C6: A radical politician who passionately believes in his cause—what a
rarity these days in Britain. 2013 could be the best year yet for
UKIP under his inspired leadership.
C7: This man is a proper Englishman and an infinitely rare example of a
genuinely reliable politician, the likes of which has not been seen in
this nation for many decades now. Vote UKIP in 2015!!!
C8: I have met him. I would drink at the bar with him and I feel so let
down by Cameron I will vote for him.
C9: A real person who speaks his mind. You can see why he doesn’t fit in
too well in that pit of snakes we call Parliament. Someone who
doesn’t lie to seek popularity. Now, do you want to try that for a
change, or will you carry on with endlessly more of the same?
C10: We may as well vote him in, he will not be any worse and at least he
will not get married to a man in church! Actually, he mostly talks
sense, let’s bring back grammar schools and excellence to this
country. And leave the EU, countries cannot be all joined at the hip
financially. That does not mean we cannot help one in trouble.
The questions raised in the headline of A2 might appear to be critical of
Farage. But a more detailed reading showed that this was a fairly com-
fortable opportunity for Farage to continue his usual antics and rhetoric,
expressing condemnation of the EU and familiar cultural stereotypes. What
is interesting here is the popularity of those comments defending Farage
against any criticism about his private life: C1 says “here we go, UKIPs
popularity grows so let’s have a go at Nige”; C2 says “Not interested in his
private life”; C3 simply states “The smear campaign has started”. These
comments support the notion that Farage is partly a victim, fighting against
the odds and facing unfair accusations from the media. They reflect the
different perceptions that readers form from stories and highlight the
importance of contextual nuances, not just in the way that stories are
written but how they are read. Even though this article was not critical or
attacking Farage, its headline creates an initial impression that provokes a
particular defense from some readers. Attention to this discursive trait is
important because it shows that whilst an article might be understood in
one way through some detailed analysis, there are still different readings
and interpretive complexities to consider, which are accessible through the
online news comments.
C7, C8 and C9 show that trust is an affective dynamic functioning
through perceptions of Farage, despite the less desirable antics that are
revealed through this article. C7 describes Farage as “a proper Englishman”
and “an infinitely rare example of a genuinely reliable politician”. The
national interests that Farage pledges to protect (or regain) are what define
his character and trustworthiness as a person—rather than any behavior or
72 D. KELSEY
controversy in his private life. “Proper Englishman” follows the stereotype

that Farage’s persona seeks to conform to. When C8 says “I have met him.
I would drink at the bar with him”, we see how the discursive construction
of Farage as a “man of the people” resonates with some readers through the
encounters that they have had with him—in this case, through a personal
meeting. Similarly, C9 identifies with Farage as a “real person who speaks
his mind”. It is his straight talking that again distinguishes him from other
politicians: “You can see why he doesn’t fit in too well in that pit of snakes
we call Parliament”. Farage’s proud political incorrectness, aggressive
mocking of the EU and explicit endorsements of cultural stereotypes,
including those of “English” identity, are what appear to make Farage
trustworthy to some readers. Therefore, ideology is crucial to the affective
experiences and contextual interpretations of readers. The preconceived
naturalizations, stereotypes, and mythologies that we all carry in our minds
can forge connections and empathy with others, often through stories.
Stories can resonate with our preconceived perceptions of nations, people,
and culture.
On this point about ideology, what is equally interesting about A1 and
A2 were the “worst rated” comments. It is here that we see a distinct shift
in the readings of those who were critical of Farage, or critically challenged
the stereotypes that Farage and those “best rated” comments reflected.
The bottom ten “worst rated” comments of A1 only received between 82–
57 “green up” votes and 613–273 “red down” votes:
C1: The rest of Europe knows the problems caused by English

xenophobes full of beer.
C2: Yes, let’s put this frog eyed egotist in charge, isolate the country and
ensure our economy goes further down the toilet.
C3: There is a distinct Arthur Daley-ish second-hand Jag salesman air
about him... and you wouldn’t buy a used car from him, would you,
never mind let him run the country. He is an utter pillock.
C4: He always looks as though he has been drinking. The image
matches his smoker’s voice.
C5: Isn’t there a typo in the headline—shouldn’t that be “irresistible
FARCE”????
C6: Former city markets trader. Just what we need after the Tories’
banker and hedge fund manager friends. Sure, the UKIP idea of
being anti-Europe has some appeal, though just where we would
look for friends following our withdrawal from Europe is a question
needing urgent attention. People need to read their manifesto
carefully, however, before greeting them as the third largest party.
Why? Because the British people don’t like the Conservatives and
don’t trust them. That means that come 2015 UKIP might well
hold the balance of power in a new coalition, which makes their
policies very important. If we don’t want Toryism, there would be
little logic in supporting a party that is much more right-wing than
the Conservatives. You wouldn’t want to be old, or ill, or a young
person seeking a job in Tory-UKIP Britain. At least the Lib Dems
have, at least supposedly, held the Tories in check. But a Tory
government led by Brutus Johnson with the bizarre Farage figure as
his deputy? No thanks.
C7: When Farage and his motley band of closet racists win ONE seat at
Westminster, you can announce they are on their way. Lib Dems
hold over 60 seats in Parliament and are unlikely to lose them all,
and as UKIP has shown repeatedly, they cannot even win a seat in a
byelection where everything is in their favor. Just polling lots of
votes in European elections where voters really don’t care about the
outcome is hardly the same thing!
C8: What a joke of a man. I would not even buy a secondhand car from
him
C9: Sorry, for all the smiles and suits many followers are racist bigots and
I feel Farage is not overly bothered as its strength in numbers.
C10: Glad to see the Mail has never lost its measured objective reporting
skills over any opposition that is a threat to the establishment.
Other than C10, which appears to be a sarcastic criticism of the Mail rather
than Farage, there are two distinct recurring themes of distrust and bigotry
in these comments. The “dodgy salesman” stereotype in the mocking
criticisms of C3 and C8 reflect the distrust that people feel towards Farage
who is deemed to be selling a lie to the British public. The accusations of
“xenophobia”, “racism” and “bigotry” reflect the resistance of some
readers against Farage’s propaganda. Their unpopularity with other readers
74 D. KELSEY
provides some ideological context to the Mail’s readership, which is tra-

ditionally right-wing. However, as a globally accessible new source with an
international readership it is justified to question whether this readership
has changed over time. It is significant that the vast majority of the com-
ments above are made by UK readers. However, C1, which states, “The
rest of Europe knows the problems caused by English xenophobes full of
beer”, was written by a Bulgarian reader and is the most unpopular
comment for this article. On the one hand, we should not overstate the
significance of online comment ratings as indicators of readership opinion.
However, these digital practices do still provide interesting insights to the
responses that stories get, the affective qualities that they carry and the
collective, ideological contexts that operate across the transpersonal.
Finally, the “worst rated” comments of A2 were very critical of Farage.
The “red down” votes for these comments ranged from 1455–1608 and
they only received 100–174 “green up” votes:
C1: Britain would be bankrupted outside the EU.

C2: Often see Farage at Orpington train station, looking after his
daughters. Seems a decent bloke. Anyone who votes for his party
needs their ruddy head examined, though! If you’re a Tory, vote
Tory! Personally, I’d never vote for those UKIP types
C3: The man is an embarrassing buffoon and not a serious politician.
Yes, he’s passionate about his beliefs—good for him—even if most
of them are somewhat misguided—but run the country? I think
not!
C4: Dismissing Robert Kilroy-Silk as a ‘vain, orange buffoon and a
monster’...Do you actually have a mirror, Nigel?
C5: UKIP support the Tories. They even offered to wind up their party
if the Tories would fine-tune their policies. I would NEVER vote
for them.
C6: Just as I was pondering how much Farage is like an infinitely less
charming version of Zippy from Rainbow, your article describes him
in the same terms. The man is an arrogant, pompous, self-important
egotist and I wouldn’t vote for him under any circumstances. Ever.
C7: ‘I’ve felt from day one that being part of the European Union was a
very, very, VERY BAD thing for this -country. I can’t explain it, but
I just KNOW I’m right. And I’ve dedicated myself to it in a way I

don’t suppose has been wholly rational.’ Whatever the hysterical
UKIP fantasists like to imagine there really is no need to smear
Farage and UKIP, they do a good enough job of it themselves.
Seriously, any ‘politician’ who can come out with that sort of ‘I’m
right but can’t say why I’m right’ nonsense is in the wrong role.
They’re better suited to sitting on the internet commenting on
articles in the right-wing tabloids.
C8: Good to see Farage coming under scrutiny. All leaders should be
closely questioned before an election. Afterwards is too late. The
real problem is the bias of the questioning and reporting is often
suspect. I have always distrusted Farage, he says what he thinks is
popular not necessarily the truth. In other words, like Boris he is
very good at public image and a joker but not someone you would
trust. Anyone who fiddled expenses to the extent he did is not
someone I like the sound of or want to vote for. Many Tories who
are disillusioned with Cameron will turn to Farage. But he is an ex
public school city worker not the man of the people he claims to be.
C9: Shame about that plane crash.
C10: Wouldn’t vote for him, but would have a beer with him. Sounds
entertaining!!
C7 is significant since it critically examines some of the extracts I discussed
earlier and refers to the “hysterical fantasies” of UKIP. This comment is
engaging with the emotive account of Farage who openly trusts his natural,
deeper, inner feeling that something is wrong about the EU. C7 shows
how Farage’s rhetoric can also have a strong affective role in the feelings of
absurdity and repulsion that it stirs up in critics—especially those like C7
who challenge its credibility and rationality. But Farage’s rhetoric in this
respect did prove to be very persuasive in the referendum and was not
exclusive to his own case for leaving the EU. In many ways, this notion of a
deeper feeling beyond rational explanation has a significant mythological
dynamic to it as a powerful form of affective politics. It allows for a broader
scope of opinion and abstract associations to be drawn on by voters with
multiple views and speculations about the EU. Such an extraordinarily
complex debate can be made far more accessible through this kind of
76 D. KELSEY
abstract and emotive sense of what is right without actually committing to

a detailed argument.
Many other unpopular comments are either mocking, abusive, or
insensitively attacking (like C9) Farage. These opinions might not be
politically constructive or engaging but they do reflect an affective con-
nection here, where readers either feel justified in making the comment
due to Farage’s persona, or might feel protected by the anonymity that
they maintain in this kind of exchange online. Contextually, we should not
over emphasize or presuppose the effect of any article in isolation. A1 and
A2 are micro components of macro discourses that continue to develop
over time. Readers bring their knowledge, emotions, and ideological
influences to the text as much as the text affects them; the affective
dynamics of the transpersonal operate in conjunction with those precon-
ceived perceptions of agency and ideology that readers encounter through
the text. Myths are as much in the mind as they are in the text. Hence the
different reactions and emotions that we see through online comments.
BREXIT BRITAIN AND FARAGE AS TRICKSTER HERO

On 4th July 2016 Nigel Farage resigned as leader of UKIP. The Prime
Minister, David Cameron had already resigned and fellow Brexit cam-
paigner, Boris Johnson had ruled himself out of the Tory leadership race.
They were criticized by many for retreating at a time when the country
faced enormous uncertainty and lacked any political leadership. Farage’s
resignation was viewed by many as yet another member of the political elite
jumping ship at a vital time and not seeing through their own political
agenda. But for Farage this was not the case. He viewed this as his pinnacle
moment: “I now feel that I have done my bit. … I couldn’t possibly
achieve more than we managed to get in that referendum and so I feel it is
right that I should now stand aside”.5 Farage had stood defiantly in
Brussels the week following the referendum and addressed parliament:
“When I came here 17 years ago, and I said I wanted to lead a campaign to
get Britain to leave the European Union, you all laughed at me. Well, I
have to say, you’re not laughing now, are you?”.6 In one sense, the
monomyth was complete: for Farage and his followers, the hero had
returned triumphant having overcome the opposition of the establishment
and European parliament.
As we know, mythological heroes of modern times are not faultless

figures. These characters are disposable, often serving a temporary purpose
which, in some instances of storytelling, can function ideologically. The
moral storytelling of Farage’s quest does not desire a clean-cut hero figure
either. This would only conform to the “do-gooder”, “soft touch”, “nanny
state” ideals that he opposes. When we consider the fact that Farage went
to private school, is the son of a stockbroker, and made his own money in
the City, we can see the contradictory traits of his own political profile,
which are masked by the Hero myth. Furthermore, Farage has frequently
referred, somewhat conspiratorially, to the political establishment’s
“friends in the media” who he accuses of trying to delegitimize UKIP and
protect the mainstream political parties. However, Farage has been on
Question Time as often as other politicians despite UKIP only winning one
seat in the 2015 election. More recently, after recording interviews for
Rupert Murdoch’s Fox News, Farage met privately with Murdoch. Nigel
Farage might claim to be anti-establishment. But he is the establishment.
The trials, tribulations, controversies, and achievements of Farage’s
political journey reflect other archetypal traits such as those of the trickster:
the most paradoxical, unpredictable, powerful, clever, foolish, creative, and
destructive of all archetypal mythologies. As we see in the following
chapters, tricksters are shapeshifters—they function in different forms and
morph across eclectic social environments. They make us ask questions and
they divide us collectively based on our ideologies. Wherever you stand
politically, tricksters can force us to ask questions, bring about change and
break down barriers. The trickster archetype should remain in mind when
we reflect on Farage’s journey.
The financial world that Nigel Farage was once a part of in the City is
the focus of my next case study. Whilst this chapter has mainly concen-
trated on Hero mythology, my concluding chapter will return to this case
study to discuss the significance of collective shadows and post-colonial
melancholia in Brexit discourse. Likewise, shadows elsewhere in society will
continue to recur through the forthcoming case studies in this book.
Shadows and financial institutions in capitalist societies are another sig-
nificant archetypal trait in Chap. 4. This is because trickster archetypes
often arise through our own reluctance to confront societal traits that we
are not comfortable with and problems that we collectively and institu-
tionally struggle to overcome.
78 D. KELSEY
NOTES
1. In an interview with the Daily Telegraph Farage described the moments
before the plane crash and his feelings after: “Initially you are filled with
fear and as the ground rushes up a sort of sense of resignation, a kind of
feeling of ‘Well if this is it let’s hope it’s all over quickly’. The pictures
from that crash are indeed very dramatic. And I’ve considered myself ever
since that moment very lucky to be alive. And if before that crash, in
politics I was unafraid to take on the establishment, since that day I’ve
been fearless”.
2. http://www.margaretthatcher.org/document/107332
3. http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2013/04/30/nigel-farage-smoking-
ban-germany-_n_3182909.html
ban-germany-_n_3182909.html.
5. https://www.theguardian.com/politics/video/2016/jul/04/nigel-
farage-resigns-leader-ukip-video.
6. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X7le5GPJpbE.
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(2nd ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Campbell, J. (1988). Joseph Campbell and the power of myth. http://billmoyers.
com/series/joseph-campbell-and-the-power-of-myth-1988/.
Fryer, J. (2012) So, Mr Farage, Why Does Ukip’s Leader Have a German Wife? ...
and Did She Make You Kip in the Spare Room Over That ‘Seven-Times-a Night
Fling’ with a Latvian? Mail Online, December 25. Accessed August 13, 2013.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2254368/So-Mr-Farage-does-
UKIPs-leader-German-wife-did-make-kip-spare-roomseven-times-night-fling-
Latvian.html
Kelsey, D. (2012). Pound for pound champions: The myth of the blitz spirit in
British newspaper discourses of the city and economy after the july 7th
bombings. Critical Discourse Studies, 9(3), 285–299.
in the Mail Online. Political Ideologies, 19(3), 307–330.
the ‘Blitz Spirit’ in British newspaper responses to the july 7th bombings. London:
Palgrave Macmillan.
Kelsey, D. (2015b). Discourse, affect and surveillance: Gender conflict in the

omniopticon. Journalism and Discourse Studies, 1(2).
Lule, J. (2001). Daily News, Eternal Stories: The Mythological Role of Journalism.
New York: Guilford Press.
Pelinka, A. (2013). Right-Wing Populism: Concept and Typology. In Right-Wing
Populism in Europe Politics and Discourse, edited by R. Wodak, B. Mral, and M.
KhosraviNik, 3–22. London: Bloomsbury.
van Dijk, T. (1998). Opinions and ideologies in the press. In A. Bell & P. Garrett
(Eds.), Approaches to media discourse. West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell.
Walters, S. (2012, December 15). FOAMING WITH FARAGE: 11AM AT A
PUB AND A GLORIOUSLY NON-PC AUDIENCE (AND BEER)
WITH THE IRRESISTIBLE FORCE BEHIND BRITAIN’S THIRD
PARTY… SORRY MR CLEGG, THAT REALLY IS UKIP’, Mail Online.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2248755/Nigel-Farage-11am-pub-
gloriously-non-PC-audience-force-Britains-party-.html. Accessed 13 Aug 2013.
Whittle, A., & Mueller, F. (2012). Bankers in the dock: Moral storytelling in action.
Human Relations, 65(1), 111–139.
CHAPTER 4
The City Trickster: Bankers, Moral

Tales, and Contemporary Capitalism
This chapter analyzes stories about bankers since the financial crisis of
2008. By analyzing the mythological construction of City bankers and the
cultural mythology that we experience through our turbulent encounters
with(in) contemporary capitalism, I argue that the trickster archetype
(Campbell 1949, 1988; Radin 1956; O’Donnell 2003; Lule 2001; Hynes
and Doty 1993; Hyde 1998) operates through the complications, dilem-
mas, and paradoxical traits of discourses about the financial sector. But the
trickster archetype is not an obvious trait of these stories. It can help us
understand what is really happening through the discursive complexities of
stories, opinions, and political practices that operate within broader ideo-
logical contexts across the transpersonal. Arguments about bankers and the
financial crisis have opened previously absent discussions about contem-
porary capitalism and calls for new financial models and structures (Mason
2015). Whilst it was not the intention of bankers to stimulate these dis-
cussions, it is the stories that we tell about them and our perceptions of
“their world” that have done so. An archetypal paradox has forced us to
not just question the morality of the banking sector but the culture of
finance and consumer capitalism that we are all caught up within.
Consumer capitalism and the finances of contemporary government are
reliant upon and supportive of the work that bankers do. And the stories
told about bankers often reflect, albeit subtly, this uncomfortable paradox.
Other scholars have provided critical analyzes of the banking crisis in
discursive contexts (Philo 2012; Whittle and Mueller 2012; Berry 2013).
Notably, Whittle and Mueller analyzed the ‘moral stories constructed

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-60759-7_4
82 D. KELSEY
during a public hearing involving senior banking executives in the UK’

(Whittle and Mueller 2012:111). Berry’s analysis argued that as a conse-
quence of City sources dominating BBC Radio 4 coverage of the banking
crisis, ‘listeners were offered a prescribed range of debate on the UK
government’s bank rescue plan and possible reforms to the financial sector’
(2013:253). Studies like these are important since they address the con-
struction and ideological implications of media coverage concerning the
financial crisis and the restrictive parameters in place for discussing or
imagining the economic structures and systems available to us. This is a
powerful trait of affective mythology: it can be as restraining and
self-containing as it might otherwise be in terms of vision, realization or
stimulation of alternative ideological objectives. Even in the case of Russell
Brand, we see in Chap. 6 that despite his calls for an alternative ideology,
expressed and embraced through an entirely new form of cultural
mythology, by his own admission he struggles to know what that alter-
native really is. And the dialogical interpretations of Brand’s own rhetoric
see him inescapably trapped through the mythological dichotomy of
left-wing versus right-wing ideology.
With such significant ideological tensions and moral dichotomies in
mind, there are many archetypal traits that might seem obvious to study in
stories about bankers, banks, and resentment towards the financial sector
after the crash of 2008. We often hear bankers criticized like the villains in a
financial crisis caused by recklessness and greed. A perception of the public
as victim sees them suffering due to the damage caused by vilified bankers.
However, in this chapter we also see cases of bankers committing suicide
and arousing speculation of their own victimhood in the City. Lule argues
that stories about victims “attempt to reconcile people to the vagaries of
human existence—to cruel fate, to bizarre happenstance, to death itself”
(2001:43). So, victimhood slips and slides across different contexts and
ways of telling stories according to the perspective of who is seen to be a
victim of particular circumstances and why.
One might argue that bankers are scapegoated as blame figures. After all,
the scapegoat character in storytelling has been frequently reapplied to
many figures in different social contexts: ‘Political activists, religious sects,
criminals, radicals, and many others’ (2001:23). Since myth ‘protects and
proclaims core values and central beliefs’ (ibid., 23) the scapegoat
embodies and displays characteristics of evil or guilt that stand in contra-
diction to the moral codes of society. Society needs scapegoats to ‘blame
and abuse’ (ibid., 23) to maintain the communication of its fundamental
4 THE CITY TRICKSTER: BANKERS, MORAL TALES … 83
values or repress other flaws that it wishes to project onto others. Through
the ridicule that scapegoats face they are perceived to become isolated or
expelled from acceptance in dominant social groups since they ‘stray too far
from accepted social practice’ (ibid., 23).
Nonetheless, I argue that identifying bankers merely as villains or
scapegoats (with the public exclusively as victims) is simplistic. Whilst partly
reflecting these archetypes, Bankers have played a more complex role in the
financial crisis and the broader cultural mythology of contemporary capi-
talism. We have collectively become increasingly confused, uncertain, dis-
illusioned, and anxious about the fragility of a financial system that so many
of our lives depend upon, in which the people we have vilified so willingly
for so long are also the people we are told we rely upon, who we can only
push so far in our condemnation since our own lifestyles supposedly
depend upon their financial work. The moral scrutiny that bankers face, the
power they hold, the moral complications they provide, the discursive
paradoxes they stimulate, and the emotive attitudes they arouse reflect the
ideological tensions of trickster mythology across the transpersonal terrain
of affective apparatus.
STORYTELLING IN THE MAIL ONLINE

This analysis focuses on 5 stories (A1–A5) and some of their user com-
ments in articles taken from the news section of the Mail Online. Again,
this analysis considers the context of the Mail Online in its editorial values,
traditional readership, and the current complexities of its successful online
format. I have chosen to focus on these articles since they are examples that
demonstrate the discursive and mythological features discussed above. A1
looks at the domestic representation of bankers through their family
concerns and the Mail’s oppositional strategies against bankers describing
their financial struggles; A2 features a gambling and casino theme of
recklessness in the banking profession; A3 features a theme of looting and
connects the immorality of bankers with looters during the 2011 England
riots; A4 draws an historical analogy between trade unions and bankers as
lawless threats to society; A5 features cases of suicide in which bankers had
taken their own lives in the City, whilst covering domestic accounts of
bankers and the mystery of these deaths. The final section of analysis
84 D. KELSEY
returns to A1’s user comments to show how empathy and emotion func-
tion through the affective-discursive loops in perceptions of bankers.
(A1)
‘I HAVE TO DO MY DISHES BY HAND’: OUTRAGEOUS QUOTES
OF WALL STREET BANKERS STRUGGLING TO GET BY ON
$350,000 A YEAR (Anon 2012).
This headline juxtaposes the common, manual action of washing dishes
(‘by hand’) and a banker’s salary of ‘$350,000’. It is clear from the con-
struction of this headline and its reference to the ‘outrageous quotes’ of
Wall Street bankers that ‘struggling to get by’ mocks the claims of bankers.
As it transpires later in the article, the task of washing dishes is not the
primary concern of the banker but it is emphasized to enhance the per-
ception of disconnected and distorted values. Below the headline a shell of
bullets (a–d) emphasizes key points from the article:
a. Several Wall Street bankers tell Bloomberg how hard it is to survive

now
b. Andrew Schiff of Euro Pacific Capital feeling crunch from $350,000
salary
c. Alan Dlugash is worried about pulling his three kids out of private
school
d. Wall Street headhunter Daniel Arbeeny is reduced to coupon-cutting
Bullet (a) anticipates attempts from bankers to gain sympathy for their
position in the financial crisis. The fact that they have been talking to a
financial news source (Bloomberg) is significant since A1 responds to the
potential sympathy that they might receive from institutions more closely
linked to the financial sector. As Whittle and Mueller (2012) and Billig
(1996) argue, conversational storytelling requires an element of ‘wit-
craft’—a skill of the mind—that is used in anticipation of, and to coun-
teract against, potentially oppositional perspectives or arguments.1 Whilst
A1 is different to the two-way conversational text concerned in Whittle and
Mueller’s analysis, a similar dynamic occurs in the Mail’s anticipation of
oppositional discourse. The opening line of A1 uses an oppositional
technique of dismissing the bankers’ accounts on these grounds:
Forget the one per cent. These guys are the WHINE per cent. Several Wall
Street bankers and execs have come forward to voice their discontent about
just how daunting it is to survive on their six-figure salaries in interviews with
Bloomberg.com.
The use of ‘whine’ as an ideographic pun (in contrast to their status as the
richest ‘one’ per cent) implies a sense of childish complaining and a spoilt
attitude. The lexical descriptions of ‘discontent’ and ‘daunting’ juxtaposed
with ‘six-figure’ salaries evoke the irony that A1 uses to emphasize the
bankers’ disconnection from the public. Points (b), (c) and (d) support this
sense of irony: ‘Coupon cutting’ is a common necessity for many readers;
‘private school’ is a luxury only available to a minority; and ‘survival’ is an
issue of concern to the poorest families. An ideological square of opposi-
tional character traits occurs here: most families are content with what
bankers are ‘daunted’ by and ‘discontent’ with, whilst bankers are only
content with the comforts and capital that are realistically beyond the
aspirations of most readers (van Dijk 1998).
With this in mind it is important to consider the language that the
bankers used in their accounts to Bloomberg:
Mr. Dlugash told Bloomberg: ‘Could you imagine what it’s like to say I got
three kids in private school, I have to think about pulling them out? How do
you do that?’ He added: ‘People who don’t have money don’t understand
the stress’.’
Mr. Schiff told Bloomberg: ‘The New York that I wanted to have is still just
beyond my reach’. … ‘I’m crammed into 1,200 square feet. I don’t have a
dishwasher. We do all our dishes by hand…I wouldn’t want to whine. All I
want is the stuff that I always thought, growing up, that successful parents
had.
Note Dlugash’s own lexical strategy in his description of the ‘crammed’

conditions of a ‘1200 square foot flat’. This account of family concerns,
experiences, expectations, and aspirations demonstrates a call for empathy
in the counter-strategy of bankers. Without the Mail’s satirical reworking
of their claims Dlugash might provide an unchallenged account of stress
through the interests of family welfare and education. This might evoke
sympathy from some readers—of either the Mail or Bloomberg. Empathy is
an important component in storytelling. As Whittle and Mueller argue:
86 D. KELSEY
Empathy is an important device for moral storytelling because it is more

difficult to cast someone into the role of ‘villain’ if they display themselves as
caring and compassionate persons. Villains are expected to be callous, ruth-
less and unconcerned by the misery and destruction brought about by their
actions. While displaying empathy does not mean that the protagonist avoids
blame for what happened, they are no longer cast as a wicked and malevolent
villain (2012:15).
It is the discursive struggle for empathy that informs the strategies in A1.
What is interesting about Schiff’s account is how he provides a disclaimer
(‘I wouldn’t want to whine’) to contextualize his disappointment as
something relative to his expectations. His claim suggests that the financial
sector posed particular dreams and aspirations but failed to deliver—for
Schiff, this illusion plays a trickster role. However, the Mail’s counter
strategy suppresses the salience of Dlugash’s perspective through its own
emotive stance. The discursive strategies of the Mail and bankers reflect the
trickster traits discussed earlier: their irrational concerns and behavior; their
foolishness; and their aspirations that exist beyond those of the public.
(A2)
£500 M BONUSES FOR ‘CASINO’ BANKERS AT RBS…
DESPITE COLLAPSE IN PROFITS (Shipman, Mail Online 2011).
A2 invokes a gambling theme and subsequent notions of risk and reck-

lessness, funded by tax payers’ money: ‘State-owned Royal Bank of
Scotland is to lavish around £500 million in bonuses on its ‘casino’ bankers
—despite a collapse in profits’. The ‘state-owned’ argument is under-
standably a prevalent theme in discourses that are critical of the banking
sector. This is significant to the context of criticism from the right-wing
press; it is not that the Mail has become a left-wing publication. Rather,
this demonstrates the complex mechanisms of ideology and discourse.
Context in this case tells us that this is a typical conservative position that
morally opposes the bankers’ agency, whilst arguably empathizing with the
interests of groups like the Tax Payers’ Alliance (commonly recognized as a
Conservative lobby group). This position keeps the Mail compatible with
the values of a conservative readership. The trickster in A2 commits the
ultimate sin; he has not only failed through his own greed and gluttony,
but he is now compromising the ideological authority of the free market, in
which banks should be privately owned and self-sufficient.
After already failing through the opportunities provided to them by the

private model, the banker in this discourse performs paradoxical traits of
the trickster figure: through their failures and recklessness and the audacity
of using state money to fund their ‘gambling’ culture. Whilst critical lan-
guage and scrutiny of bankers was less prevalent (or arguably absent)
before the financial crisis, there is a suggestion in this discourse that the
strengths of a previous economic age were based on luck and risk rather
than the skill or judgement of bankers. A2 ridicules the bank for what is
seen as a ‘casino’ set up. Then after questioning the morality of paying
‘lavish’ bonuses, it focuses on the concerns of religion and moral values:
A report into moral standards in the City of London to be published today

found that ‘a substantial number’ believe they are overpaid compared with
teachers and nurses. A survey of 500 workers in City financial institutions,
carried out for the Christian think-tank the St Paul’s Institute, also reveals
that one in three City workers believes in God, compared with three-quarters
of the British population. … At the weekend Dr Fraser said: ‘The reason why
Christianity is so suspicious of money is that the power and glamour of
money can easily corral us into a narrower sense of what it is to be human.’
Here we see the question of humanity come into play through the concept
of immoral and excessive financial wealth. There are distinct similarities
between the points made in this quote and the spiritual views of Russell
Brand in Chap. 6. Yet the Mail is in no way sympathetic to Brand or his
cause since he moves beyond a surface moral argument and questions the
fundamental financial system in place. A2, however, makes a moral argu-
ment without any further radical calls for change or alternative economic
systems. Prospective regulatory reform is not discussed in A2: regulation is
a word that sits uncomfortably in right-wing analysis and is not typically
supported as a constructive solution to the ‘casino’ culture of trading. The
moral philosophy of a church figure in A2 sits more comfortably with the
need to curb the immoral and excessive desires of bankers, rather than
regulatory measures that potentially contradict the Mail’s ideological
position.
Further down the page of A2 another window was embedded featuring
a shorter piece returning to the concept of greed through the voice of the
Church. Headlined, ‘Greed is as unacceptable as racism, says Archbishop’,
this feature addressed the issue of a growing gap between rich and poor in
society:
88 D. KELSEY
In an outspoken attack on excessive personal wealth and lavish City salaries,

Dr John Sentamu warned that the growing gap between rich and poor is
damaging British society. The Ugandan-born prelate, the second most
powerful figure in the Church of England, said: ‘Over the last few decades
racism has lost its respectability and is seen as unacceptable.’ He said he
hoped that attitudes would change so people would recognize ‘that our
society will work best when we recognize that as human beings we are all of
equal worth and members of one society.’
Using this analogy of racism is a powerful strategy for delivering a critical

argument on moral grounds. It also proposes the ethical and moral reg-
ulation of financial institutions that still avoids systemic, state regulation.
This is not to suggest that the Archbishop is wrong. But this example is
important because it can be used—depending on the source adopting it
and the context in which it features—in different ways. It might be used to
justify a review of free market capitalism in its hegemonic form or to rad-
ically review the formal structures of unregulated markets. But considered
in the context above, it is situated in the discursive (ideological) position of
individual morality and responsibility rather than systemic scrutiny. The
bankers’ values and behavior are mocked, blamed, and ridiculed in
attempts to understand complex, socio-economic phenomena.
(A3)
LOOTERS IN SUITS: THREE YEARS AGO, THIS WEEK,
LEHMAN BROTHERS CRASHED. SINCE THEN, BRITAIN’S
BANKERS HAVE LEARNT NOTHING AND HAVE BEEN LET OFF
THE HOOK AGAIN (Hastings, Mail Online 2011).
As A3 shows, trickster traits are not only applicable to privileged or wealthy

figures. These moral constructs recur across representations of social class.
The ‘Looters in suits’ metaphor demonstrates the cross-cultural qualities of
trickster traits through its shapeshifting forms in different social contexts.
During the 2011 England riots looters were ridiculed for opportunist theft
and materialism, as products of a ‘something for nothing’ benefits culture
(Kelsey 2015: 81). The bankers’ greed, excess and recklessness groups
them with the looters on moral grounds, regardless of social class. Hastings
provides an historical dimension to his analysis of bankers in this lengthy
extract:
Today’s bankers are moral descendants of medieval robber barons, tyrannical

rural landlords, the ruthless industrialists of the 19th century. When a
minority group is granted license to exploit others, it seldom holds back.
Some eminent Victorians fought tooth and nail to sustain their right to
employ child labor, send small boys up chimneys and suchlike. George
Hudson, who led the investment boom in railways in the 1840s, the coal
mine owners of Wales and the North, the 19th-century American industrial
monopolists, were men cast in same mold as today’s bankers. Yet one big
thing is different: the entrepreneurial monsters of the past took huge personal
risks to make their fortunes. Today’s bankers, by contrast, are mere
employees. They claim obscene rewards while placing bets with other peo-
ple’s money, backed by the institutions which employ them, and ultimately
by their nation’s taxpayers.
Bankers are labelled as more immoral than ‘entrepreneurial monsters of the

past’ since they are ‘placing bets’ (gambling again) with shareholders’ and
tax payers’ money. The historical dimension to Hastings’ ‘entrepreneurial
monsters’ demonstrates the recurring trait of the trickster as a figure who
changes over time according to social codes, values, and contexts. These
characteristics reflect Campbell’s earlier definition of the trickster: who
brakes in and trips up rational solutions to a problem; fools and moves
beyond the system; disrespects and refuses to abide by common values or
moral codes; and interrupts a world of supposedly controlled social orders.
Interestingly, it is through this historical analysis that Hastings discusses
more systemic issues, which reflect classic trickster traits:
In eight years, anything can happen. Governments change. Reform may get
kicked into the long grass. The current generation of bandits — sorry,
bankers — have time to make more fortunes and retire to the Caymans. But,
the only thing we can be sure about is that we, the banks’ customers, will feel
the pain much sooner.
In this instance, despite the ridicule bankers faced, they were still able to
‘make fortunes’ and ‘escape’ whilst others ‘feel the pain’ of their actions.
The notion of the trickster being ahead of the game and beyond the
control of the system was further developed in Hastings’ reference to
Mervyn King: ‘Whenever I wonder if we are wrong to feel continuing
outrage, I read a new speech by Sir Mervyn King, the Governor of the
Bank of England, who plainly feels the same way.’ This places bankers in
90 D. KELSEY
moral conflict with their own figures of authority who appear powerless in
opposition to their trickery.
Similarly, Hastings referred to a ‘Financial Times’ columnist who added
to this authoritative condemnation from within the banking sector: ‘A
distinguished Financial Times columnist complained, some months ago,
that not a single banker has gone to prison as a result of their abuses.’
However, what is interesting about A3 is the depth of analysis it provides in
its consideration of potential solutions to the problem. Through a dis-
course of punishment and law and order, more structural concerns occur:
No plausible legislation will prevent bankers from continuing to enrich

themselves. In the era of global markets, they have struck a golden formula.
Like the mafia hoods in the film Goodfellas, they have discovered how to
extract a ‘tribute’ on every financial transaction. …The Government and
regulators have a duty of care to save us from our bankers, just as bars
separate us from tigers, jackals, and vultures when we visit zoos. Mervyn
King, a deeply moral man, is doing his best to achieve this, but the
Government remains more frightened of the bankers than it should be.
Mervyn King functions here as a failing hero of fair moral intentions.

Interestingly, animalistic analogies (through the metaphor of the zoo-
keeper and the government’s responsibility to protect its citizens) reflect
other characteristics of the trickster that were mentioned earlier. But it is
through such mythological conventions that Hastings implicitly holds
systemic, ideological structures accountable in references to ‘the era of
global markets’ and the bankers’ discovery of a ‘golden formula’. In this
account, the trickster is able to outwit and gain personal advantages from a
system that was not necessarily designed for such ‘abuses’.
A final example from Hastings’ piece features a metaphor of the banker
as magical trickster:
Bank shares have fallen drastically, so that anybody who has invested money
in the institutions run by the wizards of Wall Street and the City has seen it
halved, or worse. Hundreds of billions of hard-pressed taxpayers’ money is
shoring up tottering financial institutions. Yet the men and women who have
destroyed shareholder value continue to receive fantastic pay packets for
themselves.
The ‘wizards of wall street’ adds to the complex and paradoxical profiles
that recur across the storytelling landscape. The ‘hard-pressed taxpayers’
are caught in a paradox of relying on (and previously trusting) bankers for
the wealth they are supposed to create, whilst suffering at the hands of their
trickery, as bankers receive ‘fantastic pay packets’. It is worth noting here
that the trickster figure has previously been analyzed as a careful balancing
act between creativity and destruction (Street 1972: 97). This notion of
self-serving bankers at the expense of tax-payers’ money stimulates another
historical parallel in A4.
(A4)
JUST LIKE THE UNIONS 30 YEARS AGO, THE BANKERS THINK
THEY’RE ABOVE THE LAW. SO, WHERE’S THE POLITICIAN WHO
WILL BREAK THEM? (Sandbrook, Mail Online 2012).
A4 provides a critical perspective on the problematic relations that exist
between politicians and the financial elite. Although a conservative publi-
cation, the Mail’s attack on the financial elite does not guarantee its loyalty
to Cameron:
And as the Mail has argued this week, David Cameron’s stubborn refusal to
hold a full judicial inquiry only encourages the impression that the Tories are
so tightly interwoven with the financial elite that they will never crackdown
on corruption.
A4 implies that bankers have a stranglehold over the state, public and
courts that are powerless in the dilemma they face. Similar to A3, this
demonstrates how trickster figures can exceed beyond the system by
escaping punishment in the systemic dilemmas that they take advantage of:
The City’s defenders always insist the financial sector must not be too
stringently regulated, because bankers will simply take their business to
Frankfurt, New York, or Hong Kong. I have some sympathy with this view.
In an age of intense global competition, it would be unconscionable to see
one of Britain’s few genuinely world-class, wealth-creating, tax-generating
industries driven abroad. The glaring problem with this argument, though, is
it acts as an inexhaustible Get Out of Jail Free card. If the bankers can never
be punished for fear of driving them overseas, then they are above the law —
and, in a democratic society, that is simply unacceptable.
92 D. KELSEY
The dilemma that society faces in its recognition of the banker as both
provider of wealth and recession reinforces the paradoxical dimensions of
the trickster figure. Furthermore, the concept that bankers are ‘above the
law’ since they can always play a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card again stimulates
a more systemic argument. In this instance democracy becomes the central
concern since current capitalist societies appear to be reliant on individuals
that it cannot afford to punish due to liberalized markets and international
competition. Since Sandbrook ‘takes sympathy’ with arguments against
regulation, before addressing the undemocratic nature of bankers getting
away unpunished, this demonstrates the paradoxical agency of trickster
figures in moral storytelling.
A4 used the historical analogy of trade unions to construct the threat of
a group with undeserved and immoral power:
At the time [Thatcher] took office, the union militants were the bankers of
their day. They were widely seen as an essential, if uncontrollable, part of the
body politic. Successive governments had turned a blind eye to their mis-
behavior, even though the endless succession of strikes and stoppages was
doing terrible damage to Britain’s reputation. Indeed, when Harold Wilson
tried to reform the unions in the Sixties, their leaders made him back down
— a humiliating reminder of where power really lay. Just as modern chief
executives insist they are answerable only to their shareholders, not to the
nation, so the union leaders disclaimed any wider social responsibility.
It is Thatcher’s status as national hero (another mythological role) that

functions to tell a story in which the threat to society’s established,
accepted order was overcome. But to juxtapose unions with bankers is
interesting since the bankers are essentially products of a political and
economic project that managed to ‘break the unions’. This discursive
othering maintains the perception of an acceptable social order; any group
that are deemed to exert immoral power (or jeopardize the Mail’s ideals)
are ridiculed together, in the same moral category, despite the contrasting
systemic interests that each group holds. In one sense A4 reflects what a
reader would expect to see in the Mail about trade unions. But clearly this
analogy is problematic since the two groups represent completely different
working interests. A4 used the tale of an ideological trick to describe the
actions of trade union leaders:
This was not socialism; it was self-interest, pure and simple. ‘Come on, get
your snouts in the trough,’ the railwaymen’s leader publicly exhorted his men
a few weeks later. It might have been a 21st-century banker speaking. During
this time, most commentators thought the unions were unbeatable. Mrs.
Thatcher proved them wrong, bringing in a series of reforms that made them
more democratic, outlawed the closed shop and created a more flexible labor
market. It was a long, tough battle; but it was the right thing to do.
The union leaders’ role as pseudo-socialists (‘This was not socialism; it was
self-interest, pure and simple’) demonstrates how trickster traits can group
together those who deviate from the preferred moral codes of the story-
teller. Although unions and bankers are at ideological odds, the historical
context of this detail has been de-contextualized and re-contextualized to
serve an ideological purpose (Richardson and Wodak 2009:251–267). The
historical comparison operates by connecting the two groups through their
selfishness, or “self-interest”. What’s interesting is that blame is not solely
pointed at the bankers in response to this story, which successfully stim-
ulates resentment from its readers in the most popular user comments:
C1: Well might one ask, “where are the politicians who will break them”?
I am convinced they don’t exist: they are all tarred with the same
brush.
C2: With Cameron in power, what you’re asking for is never going to
happen. Dream on buddy.
C3: Unfortunately, unlike Maggie T who broke the unions, todays
politicians are too cozy with people like the bankers so nothing is
going to change.
C4: Over the last 15 years I’ve concluded the only reason our politicians
seek to gain power is to be as self-serving as possible. As they’re all
too selfish and gutless to be of any benefit to anyone but themselves,
and in the light of George Osborn’s recent support for bankers’
bonuses, I wouldn’t hold my breath for any future help in breaking
the bankers.
C5: The pack of cards slowly collapses as people realize that the whole
money system is one giant Ponzi scheme!
C6: Don’t hold your breath for Cameron……. he can’t break wind
let alone the bankers!
These comments reflect a resentment that is fueled by the notion that the
ruling class and the financial elite are all in cahoots—their own greed and
94 D. KELSEY
self-interests have seen them manipulate a system for the benefit of anyone
who can access it and gain power within it. Another comment was inter-
discursively connected to other examples in Chap. 3, where populist
rhetoric and the image of UKIP as the people’s party was seen (somewhat
ironically) as the solution to the elite’s abuse of power:
C7: There is only one party that will fight the banks and stand up for the
people of this country in all matters and that’s UKIP. Tory, Labour
and Libdems have had decades to prove themselves and let us all
down badly with their lies and broken promises, politics in the UK
needs an urgent change for the better and I am certain UKIP will
deliver what they promise, I urge people to rethink their current
political views and thus trust they will reach the same conclusion that
I have and join UKIP.
The resentment and criticism of the banks might be understandable. But
the suggested solution of UKIP, as we have seen previously, is the ideo-
logical product of an alternative populism that celebrates and exonerates
through a monomyth constructed around Britain as a victim at the mercy
of the EU. This mythology draws on other associations and stereotypes of
Britishness that suggest a politician will bring straight talking honesty,
integrity, and transparency back to British politics. Ironically, the leader of
UKIP at the time was a former City trader and the son of a stockbroker
who accumulated significant wealth in the financial sector.
The final article in this case study reflects a different perspective on this
spectacle of the City banker. Here we see more destructive forces at work
and a rare example of how institutional and personal shadows stimulate a
more concerning insight to the world of City banking. And what is inter-
esting about the story below is that its most popular comments were dis-
tinctly sympathetic and reflective, with its most unpopular comments being
more cynical and critical.
(A5)
WHY DID BANKER WITH PERFECT LIFE TAKE A FATAL LEAP?
FOURTH TRAGEDY AT SAME CITY RESTAURANT (Martin and
Osborne, Mail Online 2012).
A5 features the case of Nico Lambrechts, the banker who reportedly had
the ‘perfect life’ but committed suicide, and recounts a spate of recent
suicides in the City:
He appeared to have the perfect life. Pictured on a recent tropical holiday,

Nico Lambrechts looked a relaxed and contented family man as he posed
with his wife. … The successful 46-year-old took a lift to Sir Terence
Conran’s Coq d’Argent at lunchtime and then fell through the atrium within
the building…. Last night neighbors said they were baffled as to why a
devoted family man would want to potentially commit suicide. … His wife
Adele was too distressed to talk about her loss. … Mr. Lambrechts lived with
his wife and three children in a £2million six-bedroom gated home in the
upmarket town of Cobham, Surrey. He took his family on luxury holidays to
destinations such as Venice.
Various lexical elements presuppose that material wealth and domestic

security provided Lambrechts with the ‘perfect life’: he was a ‘relaxed’,
‘content’ and ‘devoted’ ‘family man’. He was ‘successful’ in his job. His
family lived in a ‘£2million six-bedroom gated home’ and he took them on
‘luxury’ holidays. Interdiscursively, there are connections with domesticity,
family, leisure, lifestyle, wealth, and material possession, all contributing to
aspirational values and visions of ‘the perfect life’. Within one domestic life
and context the banker is a hero; providing his family with the security and
luxuries he has aspired to. But within the socio-economic context con-
sidered thus far, his character role is interrupted by other paradoxical traits.
Even within his domestic life, the trickster element intervenes in this
construction of a successful family man who self-destructs—bringing harm
to himself and his family. A5 features the random, unpredictable, and
harmful tendencies that trickster figures typically possess. It demonstrates
the ultimate downfall of individuals who supposedly possess everything that
people aspire to, but bring harm on themselves and others. As Radin
(1956) stated earlier, tricksters create and destroy, they are the giver and
negator. This discourse reflects the darker side of trickster traits; the idea
that the trickster is too needy or hungry for their own good. They appear
to possess characteristics that go beyond the boundaries of our
expectations.
The luxuries of Lambrechts lifestyle are juxtaposed with the ‘baffled’
accounts of neighbors. One quote from a neighbor said: ‘He was a really
great guy. He was a random man, unpredictable—you know’. The notion
of unpredictability brings the mysteriousness of the case and the excessive
characteristics of the individual closer together. A5 is not explicitly critical
of the banker in any sense and it would be misleading to suggest that it is
anything other than an account of suicides that often occur in the City. In
96 D. KELSEY
fact, it raises an important concern about the pressures that the City
workers face through a story of human interest. Considering the broader
discursive context in which this account is situated, it contributes to the
nuanced characteristics of trickster storytelling. The struggle for empathy
that I referred to in A1 arguably gains more genuine recognition in A5 due
to its focus on the loss of lives and attention to other City workers who
committed suicide. Another quote in A5 states:
The last girl only jumped not too long ago and someone else died a while
back when they jumped and landed on a bus. It’s terrible that someone can
be in such a bad place that they would do that. Maybe the pressure of
working in the City got to him.
The closing point of A5 also acknowledges the issue of pressure on City

workers: ‘Some workers blamed the stress of the City for the spate of
deaths.’ As previously clarified, A5 is not explicitly critical of bankers, but it
is primarily the spectacle of the City banker that is concerned. The accounts
from other City workers and the questions raised regarding the stress of the
City are a secondary feature. The prominent spectacle is the mystery
evoked when juxtaposing wealth with suicide. In one sense, we see a person
who was not content with those luxuries that are beyond the realistic
aspirations of most readers. But in reality, there are pressures in the banking
sector that are so abstract to many of us that we cannot relate to the causes
behind what seems to be such an absurd tragedy.
Interestingly, the most popular comments under this article appeared to
suspend criticism and reflect on the tragic circumstances here:
C1: My heart goes out to his wife and children, but also to the people
nearby who were forced to bear witness.
C2: They all seem to be involved in high pressure jobs…maybe there is
the answer.
C3: What is a ‘perfect life’? While others think someone has the perfect
life, the individual may not see it that way at all. Only that person can
truly know what is inside their mind—maybe he just wasn’t as happy
as others thought he was. Very tragic.
The tragedy and loss of life in this instance stimulates sympathy and an
acknowledgement of domestic and personal pressures that were not
compatible with the discursive parameters of other stories. In other words,
it takes this level of tragedy to see past the construction of the immoral and
inhumane banker to acknowledge the ambiguities around our perceptions
of a perfect life, who is advantaged and how one’s psychology can see them
become the victim of their own circumstance, regardless of their “privi-
leges”. At this poignant stage, with these circumstances born in mind, let’s
return to the thematic tensions of A1 and take a more detailed look at how
some readers responded.
SELF-EMPATHY AND MORAL OUTRAGE

Returning to A1, the user comments give us a really interesting insight to
the feelings that people express in response to bankers. One quote from A1
stimulated many popular responses in the user comments:
C1: “People who don’t have money don’t understand the stress”. He’s
right you know. We just moan about pathetic stuff like covering rent
and bills. We’re a daft bunch aren’t we…?!
C2: People who don’t have money don’t understand the stress? Uhuh!
People who don’t have money don’t have it because of people like
you.
In A1 we saw a call for empathy from the banker as if he lives in a world
that people do not understand with unique pressures that are justified in his
own social context. But perceptions of social class are what stimulates the
outrage here and as we can see from the other articles, there are many ways
in which bankers have been ridiculed through the perception that they
operate in a world that is detached from ordinary people. A1 readers
cannot believe that a banker in New York would complain about not
having a dishwasher when others are struggling to pay their rent.
Furthermore, C2 directly blames the banker for their own personal
financial circumstances and suggests that people do not have money
because of bankers. The latter might suggest that bankers are greedy and
wealth is not distributed fairly across society. But it could also suggest that
people are struggling financially because of the financial crisis and recession
supposedly caused by the bankers. The two perspectives follow different
ideological nuances. The former is not a typical or popular conservative
viewpoint, but the emotional and social environment at the time provides
the discursive space for this narrative to develop: the spectacle of the banker
and the affective-discursive outrage that operates through this interaction
98 D. KELSEY
between storyteller and reader is compelling. It works in its immediacy as a

moral story. This does not suddenly mean that a hard-line socialist agenda
is pursued by the Mail or its readers; it simply carries an empathetic quality
in those concepts of injustice and suffering that are constructed across
particular social classes.
This critical self-empathetic reflection ran throughout the most popular
responses to A1, which really focused on the dishwashing and square foot
measurement of the flat. These aspects of the story are strong affective
stimuli because they provide the ironic focal points of the banker stereotype
that operates through this construction:
C4: Ohhhh, Cry me a river. My husband and I took a $600.00 a month

pay cut in order for him to have a steady job. At 50 years old, he is
finally able to take days off and get paid for them. Our house is 1600
sq. feet and believe me it could be smaller now that our children are
out of the house. Awe poor thing he has to wash his own dishes.
Ummm let’s see I washed dishes for a family of four for over 14 years.
What reality are these people living in????????
C5: Our family’s monthly budget is $89. Let’s see him live on that for
1 month!
C6: This is so sad…we need to help these people!!!! FYI, I live in a tiny
studio with 2 large dogs and my bf, wash my own dishes and have not
had a vacation in 6 years. These guys are absolutely pathetic!!!
However, one particular comment was interesting due to the dialogical
mechanisms of domestic and societal discourses that one reader connected
to the story:
C7: Why are people getting sucked in by this? Regardless of how much a
person earns they will always want for more. These guys may have
salaries that you and I can only dream about, but I bet you they also
have nagging wives, kids that hate them because they are never home
and are desperately trying to keep up with their equally as pathetic
friends. Money is great to have—but peace of mind is worth so much
more!!!
This is not sympathetic like the unpopular comments below yet it tries to
construct a level of empathy with bankers. But it does so by contextualizing
these pressures through negative stereotypes and examples of foolishness
and greed: the peer pressure of impressing “pathetic friends”, the sexist
stereotype of the “nagging wife”, and the self-sacrificing role as a failing

father figure who never sees his kids due to the pressures of his own work
and greed. These stereotypes depict the self-destructive nature of the
foolish banker who is duped into inevitable and inescapable motivations of
financial gluttony. In this sense, the banker is constructed as the person
who is missing a deeper truth and understanding of what it means to be
content: “peace of mind is worth so much more”. Similarly, C4 talks about
the pay cut that they have taken in order to have better working conditions
and job security. The affective-discursive loop that operates through the
intentional focus of points raised in the article demonstrates how
self-empathetic mechanisms of storytelling operate to construct a feeling of
distance and disconnect where financial elites lack any understanding of
“normal” people.
The worst rated comments for A1 tried to sympathize with the bankers
by talking about the difficulties of adjusting after a financial downturn.
Again, self-empathetic mechanisms operate through these unpopular
comments, which take a different perspective that conflicts with the con-
struction of banker as villain, scapegoat, and foolish trickster:
C8: It’s true, up until 2009 I was earning about £600,000. When your
income drops it’s difficult to adjust. I now earn around £90,000 and
to be frank I have suffered with depression and feel like a failure.
I drive a 4-year-old car for God’s sake.
This comment is particularly interesting since it relates to the spectacle of
A5 and suicide. There is a significant cultural problem when people
working and living in a social context where financial wealth and gain is the
driver and measure of success. The fact that this person claims to have been
depressed and feels like a failure despite still earning £90,000 demonstrates
a powerful psycho-discursive trait of the ego. The loss of respect (amongst
peers or for one’s self), the loss of prestige (professional and socially) and
the loss of wealth and status (personally, socially, and domestically) are
significant cultural and discursive elements that stimulate powerful trait of
archetypal complexes in a fall from grace. When the ego is subjected to a
fall from grace, which is culturally stimulated and conditioned by the
ideological factors of its social context, it stimulates a self-empathetic
response that can be recontextualized (as it was in A1) through the moral
nuances of storytelling. This delivers a moral tale to its readers who con-
tinue to make dialogical connections through their own interpretations and
100 D. KELSEY
contributions. For some readers, the fall of the banker is a deserved fate and
should be a lesson learned for their greed. For other readers, it can be a
point of sympathy through its personal relativity. The multiple intersections
of ideology through the dialogical connections of readers stimulates dif-
ferent emotive responses to the same archetypal function of the story in the
banker’s fall from grace.
Other responses had a much more detailed take on A1 that were not just
sympathetic to bankers but tried to address some of the complexities that
exist beyond the moral storytelling and emotive discourse of the article. For
example, C9 adds up the costs of living in New York and provides a very
literal account of the financial pressures that this lifestyle provides:
C9: The cost of living in the NY area is enormous. $350,000/year once

you pay taxes (in the highest tax bracket) leaves about $200,000.
Rent alone on a two-bedroom apartment costs around $72,000.00
a year, which is what it costs to buy a house in many parts of the
US. A parking garage for a car (imagine the nerve of these rich
people who want to own a family car) costs per month around
$400.00, which is the same as rent on an APARTMENT in many
cities. Any good free schools in the area have a long waiting list and
the private schools cost $45,000 a year per child. It is virtually
impossible to live in NYC with children and have any kind of decent
quality of life unless one is making high six figures. Instead of
spouting your obvious hatred of the so-called “rich” (350k salary in
NYC is rich ha, joke of the year), please keep posting your typical
drivel about Leann Rimes on vacation. At least that garbage doesn’t
come disguised as “real journalism.”
C10: I understand where this guy is coming from. Think about it, all his life
he probably averaged above a 4.0 GPA and attended Ivy League
schools dreaming of the life it would give him. But when he gets to
New York he realizes that to keep his children in the best school he’s
looking at 40,000 a year, and for an apartment big enough to raise his
family he’s looking at 4 million, not to mention New York’s insane
taxes and general living expenses. Bottom line is he has worked
harder than any of you and he still can’t achieve what he set out to.
These comments directly engage with the emotive discursive practice of A1.
It takes the notion of hate towards the rich and recontextualizes it as an
emotion that overrides logic. For example, “imagine the nerve of these rich
people who want to own a family car”, takes the domestic concerns of critical
readers and makes their own basic needs sound unaffordable for the banker.
This endless battleground of empathetic strategies is not just significant
because we need to decide who is right and who is wrong. Rather, it matters
because it shows how the transpersonal tensions of politics and storytelling
operate to simultaneously suppress and realize the endless complexities of
financial and personal interests that operate through a modern capitalist
society. This is not an anti-capitalist observation either. Rather, it demon-
strates the contradictory and paradoxical traits of storytelling that operate in
particular cultural environments. In this instance, we see the Mail Online
contextualizing an ironic story about a selfish banker who is out of touch
with reality in order to stimulate the moral outrage of its readers.
Other equally unpopular comments accused readers of being jealous or
attacking bankers unfairly for working hard and being under rewarded:
C10: It’s all relative. Just like people saying they are poor when they have
an iPhone and plasma screen. Living in New York is expensive and
yes, these people do have to make cuts also. No, they are not asking
for sympathy. And anyway, they have worked hard to get where
they are. A lot of jealousy out there. And go ahead and red arrow
me all you want…
C11: I don’t understand why all the people complaining about these high
salaries don’t apply for work in the investment banking industry.
Perhaps it’s because they know they wouldn’t make the grade.
C13: I fully understand how they feel. They are used to lots of money and
are motivated by greed. If they were not, then they wouldn’t be
successful bankers. It’s simple. People need to understand that
everyone is now in it for themselves. The politicians, the police, the
media, and big business have proved it to us all in the last 20 years.
If you’re not part of it, then don’t complain. Everyone has the
chance and opportunity of being a part of this greed.
Ironically, it is here that we see comments that are more reflective of the
Mail’s editorial and readership values, yet they are critical of the story and
its popular comments. Perhaps we can see here how stories criticizing
bankers are a Jungian projection on the Mail’s part as it represses its own
102 D. KELSEY
ideological shadow. C10 is significant since in other contexts this comment

reflects the Mail’s values. C13 raises an interesting point about broader
perspectives of institutional power and trust in society. The ideological
philosophy of individualism is invoked through a generalization of financial
greed, social power, and moral bankruptcy. The idea that “everyone is now
in it for themselves” is dialogically connecting various institutional and
political affairs from the past 20 years to support the notion that ruthless
self-interests are the necessary reality of contemporary society.
IDEOLOGICAL TENSIONS AND THE TRICKSTER SHADOW

As we have seen, bankers are often described through metaphors and moral
tales that reflect archetypal trickster traits. Perhaps the Mail Online is a
trickster: an amoral, shape shifting, unpredictable source that will challenge
those expectations of its political loyalties through the paradoxical per-
suasions of its discourse. Archetypes often help us to make sense of the
world: on one level the financial crisis is easier to understand when indi-
viduals are blamed and ridiculed. But the trickster brings layers of com-
plexity, ambivalence, uncertainty, and instability through its amoral
dimensions. Bankers only reflect the moral parameters within an economic
system we designed for ourselves and leaves us with questions to answer
over the social structures we can either change or continue to perpetuate.
Whether bankers are the genius providers of wealth or the reckless
destroyers of economies, their ridicule highlights a sensitive balance of
values and interests in cultural and political myths. As Radin argued, ‘If we
laugh at [the trickster], he grins at us. What happens to him happens to us’
(Radin 1956: 169). If it is true that we need the expertise of bankers to
recover in the global market then this provides another dilemma for
publics, politicians, and storytellers to think about.
In a world of increasing suspicion and distrust of deregulated financial
elites, the shadows of financial institutions and governments went
unchecked for many years. The consequences were catastrophic. Whilst
bankers and politicians have taken most the flack, some have also blamed
financial journalists for their lack of intuition, warning, or critique in the
build up to the crisis and thereafter (Kelsey et al. 2016; Manning 2013;
Barber 2015; Starkman 2015; Olson and Nord 2014). One could argue that
journalists themselves were too wrapped up in the institutional mythology of
the financial sector—the political and systemic practices of banks and

financial elites—to challenge those they should have kept in check.
Institutions can be powerful. They often influence the parameters of
discussions about them and to some extent control the social commentary
that observes them. But deep within the shadows of institutions often lies
abuses of power and exploitative forces that societies need to shed light on.
When they do so we see ideological tensions rise as discursive melees cast
accusations over who did what and why and who is to blame. But the
power abuses that operate within the shadows are serious. They are often
devastating when the truth is uncovered or the consequences unfold and
they reflect the deeply suppressed characteristics of institutions that have
pushed such problems away from the parameters of public consciousness.
One storyteller who was always striving to discuss the failings of insti-
tutions and shed light on the darkest traits of society was Charles Dickens.
Through his writing Dickens opposed social and economic injustice. His
work often commented on moral corruption and exploitation in banks,
courts, workhouses, and family homes. The following chapter will continue
to focus on institutional shadows and some of society’s darkest archetypal
traits that were suppressed from public consciousness for centuries. As we
shall see, the shadows Dickens sought to shed light on in Victorian society
are alarmingly similar to those uncovered more recently. And the clues that
Dickens gave us then are still applicable now.
NOTE
ban-germany-_n_3182909.html
REFERENCES
Anon. (2012, March 1). I HAVE TO DO MY DISHES BY HAND’:
OUTRAGEOUS QUOTES OF WALL STREET BANKERS
STRUGGLING TO GET BY ON $350,000 A YEAR. Mail Online. http://
www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2108477/Wall-Street-bankers-struggling-
350k-year-I-dishes-hand.html. Accessed 9 July 2013.
Barber, L. (2015). Overview: Soothsayers of doom? In S. Schifferes & R. Roberts
(Eds.), The media and financial crises: Comparative and historical perspectives
(pp. xxiii–xxviii). London: Routledge.
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Berry, M. (2013). The ‘Today’ programme and the banking crisis. Journalism, 14
(2), 253–270.
Billig, M. (1996). Arguing and thinking: A rhetorical approach to social psychology
(2nd ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Hastings, M. (2011, September 17). LOOTERS IN SUITS: THREE YEARS AGO
THIS WEEK, LEHMAN BROTHERS CRASHED. SINCE THEN, BRITAIN’S
BANKERS HAVE LEARNT NOTHING AND HAVE BEEN LET OFF
THE HOOK AGAIN. Mail Online. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-
2038147/Bankers-looters-suits-Weve-learnt-Lehmans-Brothers-crash.html. Accessed
9 July 2013.
Hyde, L. (1998). Trickster makes this world: Mischief, myth, and art. New York:
Farrar, Straus & Giroux.
Hynes, W., & Doty, W. (1993). Mythical trickster figures: Contours, contexts, and
criticisms. Tuscaloosa & London: University of Alabama Press.
Kelsey, D. (2015). Defining the sick society: Discourses of class and morality in
British, right-wing newspapers during the 2011 England riots. Capital & Class.
Kelsey, D., Mueller, F., Whittle, A., & KhosraviNik, M. (2016). Financial crisis and
austerity: Interdisciplinary concerns in critical discourse studies. In D. Kelsey, F.
Mueller, A. Whittle, & M. KhosraviNik (Eds.), The discourse of crisis and
austerity: Critical analyzes of business and economics across disciplines. London:
Routledge.
Lule, J. (2001). Daily News, Eternal Stories: The Mythological Role of Journalism.
New York: Guilford Press.
Manning, P. (2013). Financial journalism, news sources and the banking crisis.
Journalism, 14(2), 173–189.
Martin, A., & Osborne, L. (2012, October 18). WHY DID BANKER
WITH PERFECT LIFE TAKE A FATAL LEAP? FOURTH TRAGEDY AT
SAME CITY RESTAURANT. Mail Online. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/
news/article-2219345/Why-did-banker-perfect-life-fatal-leap-Fourth-tragedy-
City-restaurant.html. Accessed 9 July 2013.
O’Donnell, M. (2003). Preposterous trickster: Myth, news, the law and John
Marsden. Media Arts Law Review, 8(4).
Olson, E. K., & Nord, L. W. (2014). Paving the way for crisis exploitation: The role
of journalistic styles and standards. Journalism Online First Version of Record—
Apr 23, 2014.
Philo, G. (2012). The media and the banking crisis. Sociology Review, 21(3). ISSN
0959-8499.
Radin, P. (1956). The trickster: A study in American Indian mythology (p. xxiii).
New York: Schocken.
Richardson, J. & Wodak, R. (2009). Recontextualising fascist ideologies of the
past: right-wing discourses on employment and nativism in Austria and the
United Kingdom. Critical Discourse Studies, 6(4), 251–267.
Sandbrook, D. (2012). JUST LIKE THE UNIONS 30 YEARS AGO,
THE BANKERS THINK THEY’RE ABOVE THE LAW. SO WHERE’S
THE POLITICIAN WHO WILL BREAK THEM? Mail Online. http://
www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2169923/Bankers-scandal-Just-like-
unions-30-years-ago-think-theyre-law.html
Shipman, T., & Duke, S. (2011, November 7). £500 M BONUSES FOR
‘CASINO’ BANKERS AT RBS… DESPITE COLLAPSE IN PROFITS. Mail
Online. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2058354/RBS–500m-
bonuses-casino-bankers-despite-collapse-profits.html. Accessed 9 July 2013.
Starkman, D. (2015). Wilful blindness: The media’s power problem. In S. Schifferes
& R. Roberts (Eds.). The media and financial crises: Comparative and historical
perspectives (pp. 3–15). London: Routledge.
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Street (Eds.), Zande Themes (pp. 82–104). Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
van Dijk, T. (1998). Opinions and ideologies in the press. In A. Bell & P. Garrett
(Eds.), Approaches to media discourse. West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell.
Whittle, A., & Mueller, F. (2012). Bankers in the dock: Moral storytelling in action.
Human Relations, 65(1), 111–139.
CHAPTER 5
Children, Shadows, and Scapegoats: The

Child Abuse Scandals of Rotherham
Council and Jimmy Savile
Shadows (Jung 1946, 1959, 1973) and children (Myss 2013; Wilkin 2012)
provide some of the most significant archetypal conventions of moral
storytelling. I discuss shadows and children together here because there are
particular social contexts where these archetypal traits function symbioti-
cally to reflect the moral failings and projections of society. Shedding light
on the shadow is often a process of social and cultural change that is
mobilized by the affective dynamics of moral storytelling. It can produce
diachronic and synchronic insights that highlight failings, immorality and
corruption whilst stimulating collective feelings of anger, regret, resent-
ment, moral outrage, and demands for justice, radical change, and
accountability. From both critical and optimistic perspectives, we can see
how, in many cases, ideology and culture are central to both the repressive
mechanisms of shadows as well as the progressive operations of change and
moral enlightenment respectively. This chapter focuses on the shadow in a
particular cultural context that is currently reflecting critical and highly
political developments in relation to children, sexual abuse, and institu-
tional change. But I should stress that to merely focus on shadows as “the
dark side” of society that are revealed through scandals like Rotherham or
Savile is too simplistic. I am concerned with the multiple operations and
complex dimensions to these archetypal traits in which numerous ideo-
logical tensions arise through the nuances of affective apparatus.
In the case of Rotherham, we see how Britain First (a radical right-wing
fascist organization) monopolized on this case by concentrating on the
racial and religious context of this abuse scandal. This example provides

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-60759-7_5
108 D. KELSEY
another shadow dynamic in the form of racial tensions that operate across
the ideological battlegrounds of the transpersonal and collective thinking.
On the one hand, we see the moral outrage stimulated by the scandal itself.
Ideologically, further conflicts develop through a collective response within
a group that reflect another societal shadow operating through its own
dialogical mechanisms.
In the case of Savile, he was long regarded as a cultural hero and now
fuels the regret and resentment behind realizations that he was a serial sex
abuser and child molester who evaded justice. This is a case about an
institutional shadow that was suppressed and concealed through his time
(and persona) as a heroic figure—his actions forced society to ask how and
why he got away with this and what failings allowed this to continue so
openly for so long. This is where I am concerned with the ideological
nuances of mythology that stimulate our collective emotions whilst
reflecting and affecting the hierarchical environments and conducts of
institutions. Across the complexities of both scandals, archetypal roles shift
over time and become a significant stimulant of moral outrage, providing
historical lessons to be learnt from past and present contexts.
THE ROTHERHAM CHILD ABUSE SCANDAL

In November 2010 five men from Rotherham were jailed for sexual
offences against underage girls. Following suspicions that these men were
representative of a deeper and more widespread problem involving Asian
men in Rotherham, Times journalist Andrew Norfolk investigated the scale
of abuse taking place. In 2012 Norfolk revealed his findings in which a
police report from 2010 showed they were aware of networks of Asian men
committing thousands of sexual offences every year in South Yorkshire.
South Yorkshire police were accused of hiding this information from
politicians. Senior officers faced heavy criticism from a Home Affairs Select
Committee for the lack of prosecutions despite clear evidence of abuse:
The committee members … heard evidence of a 22-year-old man going

unpunished after being found in a car with a 12-year-old girl, a bottle of
vodka and indecent images of her on his mobile phone. Committee chairman
Keith Vaz asked [Detective Chief Inspector Philip] Etheridge how many
successful prosecutions there had been this year for child sex exploitation.
“None,” was the answer, and just one in 2010 and eight in 2008.1
5 CHILDREN, SHADOWS, AND SCAPEGOATS: THE CHILD ABUSE SCANDALS … 109
Following heavy criticism of the police, the Home Affairs Select Committee
also scrutinized Rotherham Council for its lack of action in response to the
problem:
In Lancashire, there were 100 prosecutions the year before last, in South
Yorkshire there were no prosecutions. … We’re talking about hundreds of
victims, of vulnerable young girls, who have not been protected because, at
the end of the day, what people are looking for are prosecutions.2
A full inquiry into Rotherham found that at least 1400 children had been
abused between 1997 and 2013. The report provided harrowing accounts
of the scale of abuse that had taken place:
In just over a third of cases, children affected by sexual exploitation were

previously known to services because of child protection and neglect. It is
hard to describe the appalling nature of the abuse that child victims suffered.
They were raped by multiple perpetrators, trafficked to other towns and cities
in the north of England, abducted, beaten, and intimidated. There were
examples of children who had been doused in petrol and threatened with
being set alight, threatened with guns, made to witness brutally violent rapes,
and threatened they would be next if they told anyone. Girls as young as 11
were raped by large numbers of male perpetrators.3
Many senior council staff resigned following the publication of the Jay
report and systemic failings were acknowledged from within the council.
One of those to eventually resign was Shaun Wright. Wright had initially
remained defiant and refused to step down. But the pressure he faced was
so great that he eventually resigned. Since he was the Police and Crime
Commissioner who accepted his part in the collective failings of
Rotherham Council there was arguably a logical case to make in calling for
his resignation. However, there is an affective function to scapegoating
(Burke 1935, 1946; Jung 1970) that is important in this case because the
vulnerabilities and sensitivities of children and shadows stimulated those
deeper ideological tensions that began to arise. The Rotherham scandal
became an opportunity to pursue multiple ideological agendas through the
scapegoating of Wright; a symbolic figure who interdiscursively encom-
passed those societal traits that far-right movements and some of the press
targeted through their blame for the scandal.
110 D. KELSEY
ROTHERHAM AND THE FAR-RIGHT

Far-right groups used Rotherham as a case to campaign on. The BNP
posted a video online of a party member visiting the house of Shaun Wright
and distributing leaflets around his residential area about him as a suspected
criminal in the Rotherham scandal for his alleged cover ups. As Wright
inevitably refuses to answer the door the BNP member discusses his
“criminality”. Again, this is not framed as a complicated case of institu-
tional failings and complexities involving numerous public services and
officials. Instead, the scapegoat is emotively framed as someone who is
conspiratorially responsible for personally and deliberately covering up due
to a fear of racism. The headline on the leaflet says “… young girls gang
raped in Rotherham by Pakistanis while Labour cover it up”. The indexical
context of the perpetrator is racialized and the blame is politicized as a
party specific issue of Labour—who the far-right often criticize for their
complicity with political correctness.
A BNP placard at their protest in Rotherham symbolized their
mythological construction of national identity and the foreign other
through intertextual connections with ISIS (Fig. 5.1).4 This placard con-
tained the BNP logo of the Union Jack in a heart shape which it uses to
replace the “O” in PROTECT CHILDREN. It used the symbol of
Fig. 5.1 BNP children placards

Britishness through the Union Jack to signify love, home, and protection.
This was juxtaposed with the writing underneath that said, “fight
grooming gangs” in an Arabic font. The white Arabic writing was set
against a black background like the flag of ISIS. So, the intertextual sym-
bolism of the placard merged other interdiscursive contexts of race, Islam,
and the war on terror. A connection to ISIS and plea to protect children
suggests children are at threat from non-British perpetrators who as foreign
forces of Islam are part of a wider struggle between British values and those
of Islamic fundamentalism. In a localized sense, it restricts the problem of
child abuse to the foreign or at least Islamic other, whilst presenting
Britishness as the source of protection. In its broadest sense, it carries
global connotations of international conflict, which the shadow projects as
a problem with “them” (the other) as oppose to us. In the context of this
demonstration in Rotherham, it was suggesting that unlike the Labour
party and state institutions that fail to protect British interests, the BNP’s
national ideology will protect Britishness. It did so through the emotive
plea to protect children.
It is interesting that the term “grooming gang” was used recurrently
throughout the Rotherham case. The English Defence League posted a
photo on Twitter after its own protests in the UK and elsewhere in Europe
where they have commonly used the term “rape jihad” in their projections
following the child abuse scandals in England. A placard headed “RAPE
JIHAD” used the mother archetype to drive the emotive and domestic
power of its message: “THAT’S WHAT IT IS WHEN MUSLIM MEN
ABUSE THE NEXT GENERATION OF ENGLISH MOTHERS”. It
distinguished Islam for Englishness as if the two cannot be shared and it
made the eternal child connection between the wounded child victims who
have had their innocence compromised and will carry their abuse through
to motherhood. Young men holding placards pledging to protect children
as future mothers carries masculine connotations of affection for mother
and child through one’s own paternal role as father as much as son.
“Rape jihad” is an intertextual term that dialogically functions through
other interdiscursive connections, projecting the child abuse problem from
within UK society to a foreign evil. It internationalizes the problem via Islam
rather than humanity as whole. Through the use of “jihad” there are con-
notations of Islam and the war on terror as well as more specific signifiers
such as rape being used as a weapon of war. Not only are stories of rape as a
weapon familiar in reports of atrocities in foreign conflicts but it also
domesticates the acts of child abuse as an act of war against British victims.
112 D. KELSEY
The International Centre for the Study of Radicalization and Political

Violence (ICSR) produced a report based on its research of EDL activities.
They claimed that the EDL used this kind of propaganda to make the case
in other European countries: “The EDL has successfully exploited con-
cerns about the sex grooming gangs in the North of England, turning the
issue into one of Islam versus the West. They are consciously sharing these
tactics with their partners in Denmark, Norway, Sweden and other coun-
tries” (Meleagrou-Hitchens 2013).
Another far-right group, Britain First chanted “BRITAIN FIRST!
FIGHTING BACK!” during their march at Rotherham Council. Britain
First repeatedly portray white British (Christian) people as victims of a
changing culture that seeks to destroy the interests of “the people” with
foreign values exercised through the elite who no longer represent British
interests. These common populist traits are again symbolic of not only
populist rhetoric but also British melancholia: an inability to form an
alternative national identity that breaks away from the mythological nos-
talgia of how Britain was supposedly greater in the past (also see Gilroy,
2010). This results in social conflicts being dialogically perceived and
interdiscursively portrayed as the consequences of anti-Britishness threat-
ening white Christian interests. In the case of Britain First, Islam was the
focus on a banner displayed at their protest outside Rotherham Council’s
offices: “JUSTICE FOR VICTIMS OF MUSLIM GROOMING”.
A video on the Britain First website shows them demonstrating inside
the building before being escorted out by the police. During a con-
frontation with staff at the offices, Britain First leader Paul Golding said,
“Don’t say anything about the Pakistani Muslim groomers otherwise you’ll
be branded a racist. Labour councilors just like Labour supporters in this
building, you’re all scum!” Immediately it became clear that this was about
the ethnicity of perpetrators and the ideological mission of the far-right
attacking who they see as the left leaning, liberal establishment. As the
group were removed from the building and forced to protest outside,
Golding says to the police: “One corrupt institution protecting another
corrupt institution”. Another Britain First member says: “What’s wrong
with you? There’s women among you… Where’s your mothering instincts?
These are children that suffered.” This is such an emotive issue that their
presence as a far-right party becomes a side point for Britain First since they
have laid out a clear dichotomy: this is children suffering because of
Muslims and anyone who is not on Britain First’s side is part of the
problem. The point about motherhood constructs the police as individuals
who are so loyal to their institution that they have somehow lost touch
with archetypal instincts that “real people” are affected by.
After the protest, the website article that the picture above was
embedded in said, “The Pakistani security guards were giving filthy looks
and the council reps that spoke to us did so with arrogant smiles on their
faces. Britain First will be back!”. Even at this stage there was an implicit
suggestion that Muslim communities do not condemn the abuse (“filthy
looks”) and the council were conspiratorially unashamed of the scandal
(“arrogant smiles”).
On the one hand, these protest groups are addressing the institutional
failings that can be traced way back to those in the Dickensian storytelling
discussed in Chap. 2. But at the same time, we see the provocative pro-
jections of the far-right taking advantage of what is a convenient event to
suit their agenda and propaganda:
In October 2011, the Office of the Children’s Commissioner for England

started a two-year project looking at the extent of child sexual exploitation.
Their interim report, published in November 2012, suggested 16,500 chil-
dren were at ‘high risk’ of exploitation and 2,409 children had been sexually
exploited during the first 12 months of their research period (Berelowitz
et al. 2012). However, as they emphasize: ‘The vast majority of the perpe-
trators … come from all ethnic groups and so do their victims – contrary to
what some may wish to believe (2012:5). (Orr 2014)
Given this knowledge, these are in no way progressive protests that only
seek to defend the interests of victims since they seek to further a racist
campaign against Muslims. On this occasion, the wounded child archetype
was a powerful, affective mechanism through which the far-right continued
an agenda that was not about human rights, but actually about race and
religion in national and transnational contexts. The emotions stimulated by
a child abuse scandal provided an affective-discursive loop to feed an ide-
ological agenda through further “evidence” to support their cause. What is
most concerning about Britain First are the vast and nuanced social pockets
through which they operate and the affective practices they adopt on
emotive issues. For example, Britain First were successful in creating the
most “liked” UK political party page on Facebook, with many “likes” from
users who know little about their true identity.5
114 D. KELSEY
POLITICAL CORRECTNESS AND THE PRESS

Mainstream newspapers and columnists scapegoated political correctness
(or the “PC Brigade”) for protecting the perpetrators in the Rotherham
case. The Sun and Daily Mail ran the following front-page headlines: 1400
VICTIMS OF THE PC BRIGADE (The Sun 2014)6; BETRAYED BY PC
COWARDS (Daily Mail 2014).7 However, Telegraph columnist, Dan
Hodges argued that political correctness was not to blame for Rotherham
since this was actually a case of racism against whites:
To dismiss what occurred there as political correctness run amok is to of itself

allow political correctness to run amok. The victims of Rotherham were
selected because of their race. The perpetrators were left free to continue
their abuse because of their race. That is what we call racism. Because if we
don’t, then the entire concept of racism ceases to have any meaning.
Again, the focus on race is unhelpful when it overlooks the evidence of a

deep and widespread problem in society as a whole, regardless of race or
religion. This is not to superficially dismiss Hodges point either. My con-
cern is that the race issue was setting the parameters for debate and dis-
cussion rather than focusing on the fact that this was yet another one of
many scandals that are not correlated with a particular social group. Abuse
can occur in any cultural context. It seems that one of the main challenges
are those institutional structures and archetypal patterns of behavior that
persistently recur through dynamics of power. We repeatedly see people
using positions of social, professional, and domestic power to carry out
abuse through the shadows of society.
Writing in the Independent, Paul Valley (Professor of Public Ethics)8
discussed the media’s pursuit of Shaun Wright and its focus on a race
problem, both as scapegoats that could be blamed for the scandal: “There
is an understandable instinct at times of crisis of public outrage that
‘something must be done’. Scapegoating satisfies that urge. But it does not
necessarily do much to safeguard children still at risk” (ibid.). This
scapegoating, he argues, was unhelpful when there was a need to find
solutions:
The same can be said of the impulse to stereotype a whole community.

Almost all of the rapists uncovered in Rotherham were from Pakistani
backgrounds, as they were in cases of street grooming in Oxford, Rochdale
and Derby. The Jay report described a widespread perception that council
and police dared not act against Asian criminals for fear of allegations of
racism, though interestingly, Jay added, “we found no evidence” of that.
Whilst Valley acknowledged the cultural concerns around these crimes and
the problems within particular communities—including Muslim commu-
nities—he moved beyond the reductionist claims of racial scapegoating. He
responded to the focus on Pakistanis and Islam by referring to other
examples of recent scandals involving white Christian men:
There are clearly distinct problems in Kashmiri culture; the novelist Bina
Shah has criticized racism, misogyny, tribalism, and sexual vulgarity among
men “who hail from the poorest, least educated, and most closed-off parts of
Pakistan”. The UK Muslim Women’s Network produced a report last
September which showed that the sexual abuse perpetrated on white girls in
Rotherham is virtually identical to the molestation of Asian girls across the
UK by groups of men from their own communities. A few brave male
Muslim leaders are beginning to address this within their own communities.
… It makes no more sense to blame Islam than it does to look at Gary
Glitter, Jimmy Savile, Stuart Hall, Max Clifford, and Rolf Harris and say they
reveal something dodgy about Christian culture. Scapegoating may make
bigots feel better, but it doesn’t do much for safeguarding children.
Valley critiqued the widespread concentration on race in much of the

reporting about Rotherham. He suggested that it justifies the inclination to
make particular crimes the responsibility of someone else or another group
that can be blamed. This blame, he suggests, diverts attention from the
more complex, institutional, and structural factors that the Jay report
highlighted. But as Valley points out, those complexities do not make big
headlines. Neither, I argue, do they satisfy the tendency to play out shadow
qualities through the media. To repeat Zweig and Abrams earlier point, we
see the dark side of human nature whenever we read a newspaper or watch
news—the obscene traits of the shadow are visible on a daily basis in
modern media: “The world has become a stage of the collective shadow”
(1991:xix). Online news reveals the affective-discursive loops of storytelling
as readers project those shadow qualities through their prejudice and bias.
For example, as Valley pointed out after Rotherham: “Readers’ comments
on newspaper websites reveal that ‘it confirms everything I always thought
about Islam’, said one of the more repeatable”.
116 D. KELSEY
As Valley said, “chauvinism and misogyny are to be found in white

communities, where wives are still beaten on Saturday nights when the
wrong football team loses, and in black communities as “choke this bitch”
rap lyrics reveal” (ibid.). Multiple scandals—including youth football, the
Church, and the BBC—have shown that this is an historical problem with
power and people across multiple civilizations, ethnicities, religions, and
historical contexts. The abuse uncovered within the Catholic Church does
not, quite rightly, see Catholics labelled as a general problem in our society.
An example of another sexual abuse scandal that was dealt with very dif-
ferently by the press is that of Jimmy Savile.
JIMMY SAVILE SEXUAL ABUSE SCANDAL

In October 2012, the Metropolitan Police (Met) began Operation
Yewtree. This was a criminal investigation responding to historic allega-
tions of child sexual abuse carried out by Jimmy Savile (and others) before
Savile’s death in 2011. It is thought that Savile’s crimes might have started
as early as the 1940s and continued until around 2009. In 1990 Savile had
been knighted for his charity work and was widely respected whilst he was
alive. But the allegations, findings and convictions that followed soon after
his death were unprecedented with the Met reporting hundreds of cases
against Savile and other celebrities, some of whom are still alive and have
been convicted as a result of Operation Yewtree. The BBC summed up the
Savile case as follows:
In his lifetime, millions knew Jimmy Savile as an eccentric TV personality. To

some, he was Saint Jimmy, who raised £40 m for charity. But it has transpired
that he was also one of the UK’s most prolific sexual predators. Savile was one
of Britain’s biggest stars, a larger-than-life character who was known for
tea-time TV favorites like Top of the Pops and Jim’ll Fix It as well as stints on
BBC Radio 1. At the same time, it has since come to light, he was exploiting
his status to prey on hundreds of people - girls and boys, men and women, but
mostly vulnerable young females. He assaulted and raped them in television
dressing rooms, hospitals, schools, children’s homes, and his caravan.9
Since so many of Savile’s crimes happened at the BBC and hospitals around
the country, the BBC and the NHS have subsequently faced inquiries into
their practices that have scrutinized the institutional cultures that allowed
these crimes to go unpunished. The institutional failings here show how
institutions have to respond to shadows as much as individuals—institu-

tional shadows often operate through the individual and collective deci-
sions and discourses of groups and professionals within them. Hence, the
revelations of the scandal, cultural shifts in public consciousness, and the
Met’s investigations enabled critical institutional reflection and, potentially,
a form of individuation within the establishment.
In Jungian terms, we can analyze Savile’s persona (Jung 1959) in this
scandal. In other words, the mask he so deceptively managed to maintain
for the whole of his career and most of his life. In this respect, the BBC
discussed Savile’s construction of his own myth by consciously creating a
public persona to cover up his dark side and counter any accusations he
faced over time:
Savile once famously claimed he had no emotions. “That would make me

bad news for a psychiatrist or a psychologist because there’s nothing to find,”
he told Dr Anthony Clare in BBC Radio’s in the Psychiatrist’s Chair in 1991.
“What you see is what there is”. But that was the carefully constructed Savile
myth. It ensured very few people ever really got close to him, or knew the
truth about what made him tick. The public persona portrayed him as
eccentric and flamboyant, but essentially straightforward and good-natured.
The mask rarely slipped while he was alive, and it helped him deflect accu-
sations of anything more sinister. He would attract speculation because he
was odd, he would say - but that was all he was.
It is interesting to see how the psychological significance of his “persona”

and “mask” as descriptions of his deceitfulness function in this piece. The
fact that he did attract speculation but could deflect it through his “ec-
centric” and “odd” public persona only demonstrates part of the reason
that he managed to avoid more serious scrutiny or investigation while he
was alive. It has been suggested that many people were aware of his
behavior but often did not report it due to his status. The Dame Janet
Smith review, which identified 72 victims of Savile and a further 21 victims
of fellow BBC broadcaster Stuart Hall, found that staff had been fearful to
report crimes that they were aware of over the decades—mainly the 1970s
—when the abuse happened. The review highlighted an “atmosphere of
fear” in the BBC that it still believes exists today and Dame Janet Smith
said the BBC had missed five clear chances to act upon the crimes of Savile
and Hall. Another finding highlighted in the same piece said: “When a
junior employee at Television Centre complained to her supervisor in the
118 D. KELSEY
late 1980s that she had been sexually assaulted by Savile, she was told ‘keep
your mouth shut, he is a VIP’”.
This is how the institutional shadow functions since individuals working
within the organization repress and deny the dark side of its values and
practices. This can happen for a multitude of personal, professional, and
cultural reasons. At the time, the social empowerment of fame, iconic
celebrity status of radio of DJs and presenters, and the reputation of the
BBC were all affective factors that created political, professional, and
emotive barriers around the BBC, prohibiting staff from unsettling its
hierarchy or confronting its shadow:
At a news conference to announce the details of the findings into the abuse of
Savile and Hall, the director general apologized to their victims and said: ‘A
serial rapist and a predatory sexual abuser both hid in plain sight at the BBC
for decades. What this terrible episode teaches us is that fame is power, a very
strong form of power and like any form of power it must be held to
account… and it wasn’t.’
It is important to recognize that this scandal was not limited to the BBC.
To reduce this as something exclusive to the BBC would only project this
shadow onto a convenient scapegoat. Savile’s crimes were committed in
hospitals and care homes—they reflected a broader cultural problem at
the time. He prayed on vulnerable people through multiple institutions
that he could exploit through their shared cultural and hierarchical
structures. Despite the Mail Online’s openly critical and ideological
opposition towards the BBC, the Savile scandal became a spectacle that
saw its scrutiny of the state broaden to even include revelations regarding
Thatcher and the monarchy:
Revealed: Lady Thatcher’s FIVE attempts to secure knighthood for Jimmy

Savile while her aides warned of his ‘strange and complex’ life
• Tory PM first asked he be made ‘Sir’ Jimmy in 1984, secret documents

show
• Civil servants warned her off because of his boasts about his ‘lurid’ sex
life
• He was finally knighted in 1990, Lady Thatcher’s final year in office
(Allen, Mail Online 2013)

What we see here are historical, personal, and governmental levels of

repression and denial of Savile’s crimes due to the power relations of society
at the time. Civil servants were aware of suspicious behavior and Thatcher
was warned but this was not enough given the celebrity fame, power, and
emotive connections to Savile. Given the severity of these crimes the press
expressed widespread criticism of the establishment as a whole. Under the
headline, “Jimmy Savile given free rein to sexually abuse 60 people, report
finds” the Guardian said: “Savile’s celebrity status, his connections with
the then prime minister, Margaret Thatcher, and with royalty, and his role
as a fundraiser allowed him unfettered access to patients, staff and visitors at
the Buckinghamshire hospital”. Another Daily Mail article discussed how
Savile had managed to infiltrate the establishment at the highest level:
How Savile seduced the royals: As it’s claimed he nearly became godfather to
Harry, how the predatory DJ wormed his way into the very heart of Palace life
• Serial pedophile inveigled himself into Prince Charles‘ life as a mentor

• He was granted unprecedented access across all the royal palaces
• Even the Queen couldn’t resist his charm — or so he liked to claim
• But Diana found him ‘creepy’ and recoiled after he once licked her
hand
(Kay, Mail Online 2015)
This piece suggests an element of fabrication on Savile’s part—it distances

him from the Queen and Diana. But it is interesting to see how this
headline described Savile as a perpetrator “worming” his way into the
highest level of the establishment. The archetypal characteristics of Savile as
an abuser who “wormed” his way in hold similar physical connotations to
the character Dickens depicted in Fagin. Dickens was writing at a time
when it was as difficult to speak out about pedophilia in Victorian London
as it was, equally, during Savile’s time at the BBC. Hence Dickens used the
Jungian metaphorical underworld scenery to depict the failings of society’s
shadows and the abuse that children were exposed to. But in the case of
Savile this was happening for real at the highest level of society—the dark
side of the human psyche that Dickens depicted was operating through the
highest level of establishment.
120 D. KELSEY
Whilst individuals such as the Queen and Diana were reportedly sus-
picious—arguably portrayed as being wiser and more intuitive than other
senior figures—darker trickster traits of Savile’s character operate through
the spectacle of this story. On the one hand, the state was as flawed and
corrupted as Dickens observed. But furthermore, Savile is not prohibited or
protected by the underworld like Fagin. Instead, he used his persona to
mask his true character. His power and charm at the time gave him an
affective influence on those around him and access to the most elite cor-
ridors of the establishment. He was protected by and symbolic of the
establishment’s shadow since the cultural and institutional mechanisms
were either not in place or not willing to stop him.
What is interesting about the Savile case, along with other celebrities
who have been charged for similar crimes, is the absence of race or religion
in any common discourses around the scandal. Unlike Rotherham, this did
not stimulate a moral outcry or scapegoating of white, middle class
Christian men. Neither was the establishment in anyway connected to the
Church or identified as a product of any religious values. Ironically, the
period in which Savile committed his crimes was long before any talk of
“political correctness gone mad” in society. Rather, this case shows how
the press blaming the PC Brigade or Islam for Rotherham in 2014 was a
projection—institutional shadows had been repressed for decades as part of
a widespread cultural corruption and many crimes went unpunished.
The public and media outcry regarding the Savile scandal did not attract
right-wing groups to protest them as they did in Rotherham. Intriguingly,
these right-wing groups have not targeted BBC buildings, houses of BBC
officials or other parts of the establishment who failed to respond to many
decades of abuse by male DJs and broadcasters. But whilst the Savile
scandal was much about the power abuse of celebrity culture, one should
not fall into the trap of projecting this as an elite problem. It is a problem
within humanity. From the BBC to Rotherham it is clear that this happens
across all echelons of society.
A sad point about Rotherham and Savile was actually the recurrence and
denial of Dickensian traits that he had observed in Victorian Britain. State
institutions and social conditions were failing children. Writing in the
British Medical Journal, a pediatric consultant commented on Oliver Twist
as a textbook for child abuse in contemporary society (Brennan 2001).
This was long before the known cases of Rotherham or Savile, which
demonstrate how much we have failed to learn from the past. Brennan
pulls out the different levels and forms of abuse that Dickens highlighted:
“He observes and describes many categories of child abuse, together with
risk factors which modern research has identified in abusing parents.
Institutional abuse is the first scene, as Oliver’s mother dies in childbirth.
She is attended by a drunken “midwife” and an uncaring doctor” (2001).
Brennan then refers in some detail to the recurring issue of substance abuse
that increase the risk factors of vulnerable children:
The whole district where Fagin lived was pervaded by alcohol. It had “little
knots of houses, where drunken men and women were positively wallowing
in the filth” (Chapter 8), and Fagin himself plied the young boys in his gang
with alcohol. Bill Sykes, like many violent men, drank alcohol at almost every
appearance. He seldom had just one drink, and on the evening before the
Chertsey robbery drank “all the beer at a draft … and then disposed of a
couple of glasses of spirits and water”. (Chapter 26) (ibid.)
The institutions that Savile targeted, the evidence of an organized under-

world of criminals in Rotherham, the accounts of children escaping care
homes at night to join their abusers, the prevalence of drugs and alcohol in
this culture of abuse, and the stories of physical intimidation towards
children who might speak out—these signs all signify parallels between
then and now.10
PROJECTIONS, EMOTIONS, AND IDEOLOGIES

In response to these scandals, we have seen how social groups project
shadow traits by scapegoating others through affective-discursive practices
that are both emotive and ideological. The wounded child archetype
stimulates a variety of emotions and ideological complexities in collective
consciousness. On the one hand, we see collective awareness triggered by
revelations from the victims, the police, politicians, and the press. But how
this kind of scandal is processed depends on many other archetypal layers of
the transpersonal that are entangled with ideology. In this sense, different
social groups, individuals, and institutions have their own shadows and
repressed dynamics to grapple with.
In terms of the Rotherham case, it is not completely impossible that
some individuals were scared to report crimes through the fear of causing
racial tension or being accused of racism. But what is crucial to understand
122 D. KELSEY
here is that this is a sensitive point, which should not be monolithically

recontextualized as an argument that is exclusive to far-right propaganda or
Islamophobia. We did not see these groups campaigning about the BBC
DJs who were convicted of child abuse and we have not seen them
approaching local churches when parish priests have been arrested.
Emotively, this might appear to be about children and justice, but ideo-
logically it is actually about race, religion, and ethnicity—expanding to
transnational politics of immigration and the war on terror. Therefore,
affective mythologies of the transpersonal are essentially ideological oper-
ations of mind and culture. Children, shadows, and scapegoats operate
across archetypal terrains that arouse anger, repulsion, and resentment. But
these emotions are often harnessed through the ideological dynamics of
culture and the social contexts in which we respond to all forms of social
injustice.
Cultures of abuse going unpunished for so long in the Rotherham and
Savile scandals provide examples of personal (professional) and, subse-
quently, institutional shadow dynamics to function outside the scope of
collective (public) awareness. But when they do become public scandals,
we see different responses occur—some of which reinforce further
archetypal traits of the shadow. For example, we see on the one hand how
the function of scapegoating can either shed light on institutional and
systemic failings. But on the other hand, it can be reductive and ideolog-
ically driven to blame certain social groups whilst continuing to restrict any
deeper understanding of societal problems. In such cases, the broader
social, institutional, and cultural problems beyond the scapegoat remain
repressed—for those who cast projections, they remain within the shadow.
On this point, I introduce the final case study of this book. In Russell
Brand’s call for a spiritual revolution he has argued that we need a much
more open and reflective understanding of ideology and mythology—to be
in touch with our collective unconscious and understand our shadows. In
doing so, Brand has discussed how personal reflection can be used to
stimulate a process of individuation that reflects his own adoption and
application of Jungian concepts. More so, it reflects this oscillation between
the individual and the collective across the transpersonal. Brand’s Jungian
and spiritual approaches show how societies need to re-mythologize
themselves. He believes this can create new ideologies that oppose negative
and destructive forces currently threatening our individual and collective
interests.
NOTES
1. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-south-yorkshire-19966721.
2. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-south-yorkshire-28934963.
3. http://www.file://campus/home/home14/ndlk/Downloads/
Independent_inquiry_CSE_in_Rotherham%20(2).pdf
4. Copyright Dave Doyle 2016.
5. https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/feb/25/truth-
britain-first-facebook-far-right-bnp.
6. https://www.thesun.co.uk/archives/news/1058469/1400-victims-of-
pc-brigade/.
7. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2735169/Betrayed-PC-
cowards-Damning-report-reveals-1-400-girls-abused-sex-gangs-social-
workers-police-feared-racism-claims-did-nothing.html.
8. “Paul Valley is visiting professor in Public Ethics at the University of
Chester and a senior research fellow at the Brooks World Poverty Institute
at the University of Manchester. He writes on ethical, political, and cultural
issues. He has a fortnightly column in the Independent on Sunday and also
writes for the New York Times and the Church Times. His latest book is
Pope Francis—Untying the Knots. He was co-author of the report of the
Commission for Africa and has chaired several development charities.”
http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/comment/rotherham-child-
sexual-abuse-scandal-the-lessons-we-need-solutions-not-scapegoats-
9701623.html.
9. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-19984684.
10. http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2014/08/29/rotherham-abuse-taxis_
n_5736062.html.
REFERENCES
Brennan, P. O. (2001) Oliver Twist, textbook of child abuse. British Medical
Journal, 85(6), 504–505.
Burke, K. (1935). Permanence and change: An anatomy of purpose. London:
University of California Press.
Burke, K. (1946). A Grammar of Motives. London: University of California Press.
and Kegan.
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Jung, C. (1970). Analytical psychology: Its theory and practice. London: Vintage.
Kay, R. (2015) How Savile seduced the royals: As it’s claimed he nearly became
godfather to Harry, how the predatory DJ wormed his way into the very heart of
Palace life. Mail Online, 12th June http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-
3122130/How-Savile-seduced-royals-s-claimed-nearly-godfather-Harry-
predatory-DJ-wormed-way-heart-Palace-life.html.
Meleagrou-Hitchens, A. (2013) A neo-nationalist network: The english defence
league and europe’s counter-jihad movement. The International Centre for the
Study of Radicalization and Political Violence (ICSR). http://icsr.info/wp-
content/uploads/2013/03/ICSR-ECJM-Report_Online.pdf.
Myss, C. (2013). Appendix: The Four Archetypes of Survival. https://www.
myss.com/free-resources/sacred-contracts-and-your-archetypes/appendix-the-
four-archetypes-of-survival/
Orr, J. (2014). ‘Street grooming’, sexual abuse and Isamophobia. In M. Lavalette
& L. Penketh (Eds.), Race, racism and social work: Contemporary issues and
debates. Bristol: Policy Press.
Wilkin, S. (2012). Oliver Twist: Divine child. A Jungian interpretation.
CHAPTER 6
Spiritual Revolution: The Affective

Mythology of Russell Brand
This chapter is not about criticizing or praising Russell Brand. Much of the
media coverage about him commits to this dichotomy in both contexts.
Instead, I want to consider how Brand’s discourse and politics operates
conceptually in relation to consciousness and affective mythology. As we
see in this chapter, “consciousness”, “Joseph Campbell”, “Carl Jung”,
“mythology” and “ideology” are common features of Brand’s vocabulary.
This case study is much more about the deliberate and conscious appli-
cation of Jungian theory and mythology in Brand’s language rather than
other cases where I have used those concepts to understand what’s going
in situations where the same vocabulary is almost entirely absent. Brand
does not pretend to operate outside of ideology or mythology and he
explicitly attempts to construct what he expresses as his politics of spiri-
tualization that he claims transcends the polarization of left- and right-wing
politics. Of course, discursively and dialogically it is virtually impossible to
avoid making connections between Brand’s politics and particular values
that operate within the political spectrum—particularly the left—and some
of Brand’s own disclaimers are indicative of these perceptive tensions.
Nonetheless, Brand calls for us to create a new mythology that can break
away from the self-perpetuating parameters of current political discourse.
He sees the affective content of newspapers that are designed to sell rather
than inform as an example of the current limitations in public discourse:
If you can only sell newspapers by stimulating peoples’ baser primal motives –
their sexuality, their prurience, their jealousy, their lust – then it’s going to

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-60759-7_6
126 D. KELSEY
inform an attitude. … From the top down, people behave in a way that’s
indicative of those attitudes. (Brand 2014)
Brand argues that if current social, economic, and ideological structures

can be created by the mythological operations of our consciousness then
there is no reason why another way is not possible; if it engages with other
forms of collective consciousness and those repressed instinctive qualities of
our human psyche. He draws on the work of Jung and Campbell to show
how we already live within the creative forces of mythology that are con-
structed by our consciousness. Much like Campbell’s assertions that par-
ticular religions need to create their own alternative mythology in order to
unite and accept each other (1988), Brand calls for a shared level of
consciousness where we create a new, alternative myth that unites us.
However, Brand argues that in order to break away from current social
orders and values we need a level of awakening to occur collectively. He sees
his own experience of individuation as a psychological, physical, and spir-
itual breakthrough, which would revolutionize society if it were to occur
through some transformation of the collective psyche. On this conceptual
basis, Brand has called for a revolution and published a book called
Revolution in which he critically examines the state of contemporary pol-
itics, economics, and society. Mythology is a prevalent theme throughout
the book, which I will visit amongst other examples throughout this case
study. But before doing so it is important to consider some of the criticism
that Brand faces in the media. Much of this criticism has been based on
accusations of hypocrisy. But when we look at much of what Brand is
saying these accusations are somewhat misleading.
BRAND, THE PRESS, AND ACCUSATIONS OF HYPOCRISY

Brand acknowledges his own contradictions and shortcomings as part of
the individuation that he has pursued on a personal level. That is not to
suggest that one should agree with everything that Brand argues, but it
does seem that this recurring criticism—often in the mainstream press—is
somewhat redundant. It rarely appears to engage with Brand’s position or
the reflective elements that are evident in the Jungian aspects of his own
arguments. For example, during a protest about rising rent prices imposed
by private firms, which Brand attended to support families from areas of
East London, a reporter challenged Brand for renting a property worth
millions of pounds in London and argued he was part of the problem.
6 SPIRITUAL REVOLUTION: THE AFFECTIVE MYTHOLOGY … 127
Following Brand’s aggressive response to the reporter (who he called a

“snide”) a media backlash occurred, most prevalently and unsurprisingly in
the right-wing press. Under the headline, “The TV tantrum that shows
why ‘revolutionary’ Russell Brand is really just a revolting hypocrite”, Piers
Morgan’s Mail Online piece said:
The TV preachers who inform us that ‘illicit sex will take you to the burning
fires of hell!’ and then get caught with their pants down by a cheerleader’s
ankle; the fashion models who line their pockets filming anti-fur campaigns,
but promptly get photographed slipping out of a glitzy nightclub dripping in
mink; the actresses who insist they abhor being sexualized yet spend 90% of
their time stripping off for naked magazine covers; the sportsmen who wax
lyrical about cheating, right to the point they are discovered to have abused
steroids for decades.1
Following the same incident, the Sun ran the headline, “HYPOCRITE”,
followed by: “He rants against high rents and tax avoidance. But he pays
76 K a year to tax-dodge landlords”. Countless examples occur across
various media where Brand has been consistently accused of hypocrisy due
to his own lifestyle and status.
In response to this coverage Natalie Fenton, a director of Hacked Off,2
responded to the criticism Brand received from the press:
The Russell Brand example is a really good one. Because I do think it is

astonishing. Here you have somebody who is willing to say, “Things aren’t as
they should be”, to point the finger at places that as we know are massively
problematic – we are being ruled by debt agencies and banks and that’s a big
problem… But what he is also saying is “I don’t know the answer or what the
solution is”. And that is where people have really come down on him. He is
saying, “Like anybody else [knows]”? And so Brand, who has actually got
massive public support, is vilified in the mainstream media as a consequence.
Why is it bad to talk about politics in a way that people understand and can
see a sense to?
Following the Sun’s headline above he provided an extensive response via

his Trews channel on YouTube, where he highlighted the Sun’s own
hypocrisy and their efforts to deflect attention away from the actual protest
itself. Whilst much attention could be given to the discursive detail of
Brand’s own responses, what I am actually interested here are the Jungian
aspects of Brand’s position and other arguments that he has pursued
128 D. KELSEY
through his activism. Before discussing examples concerning politics,

mythology, and ideology in Brand’s work, I want to consider the process of
individuation that is fundamental to Brand’s call for a spiritual revolution
and other political standpoints that he has taken through his activism and
commentary.
PROJECTIONS, CONTRADICTIONS, AND INDIVIDUATION

Brand often accounts for his paradoxical position as someone who is caught
up in a system that benefits himself (hugely) yet he is simultaneously
attacking it and calling for change. Paradoxical persuasions (Kelsey 2015a,
b) are a common dynamic of discourse and ideology since the latter does
not operate through consistent, linear narratives. For Brand, it is through a
Jungian approach to individuation that he tackles these paradoxical
mechanisms of the transpersonal. Much like a neutral approach to ideol-
ogy, Brand is explicitly accepting of traits and quirks in his own character—
as part of his humanness—that he has to confront and manage in order to
mythologize what he believes to be the right moral codes to live by. He
acknowledges that he is part of the problem. But before delving further
into the Jungian dynamics of Brand’s psyche, let’s consider an example of
him discussing these aspects:
I’ve not written this book [Revolution] or saying this stuff or making this
stand because I think I am better than anyone else or that I should be in
charge or that I’ve got all the ideas or all the answers. I think I am worse than
normal people. I’m more driven by lust, I’m more driven by ego, I’m more
driven by pride. I want attention, I want women, I want drugs, I want food, I
want, I want, I want, I want. I exemplify the problems of our culture and
therefore I know they are not the solution. You can’t make yourself happy
getting famous, it doesn’t make any difference. You can’t make yourself
happy pursuing loads of different girls and stuff. All you do is you empty
yourself, you drain yourself, you’re off the grid, you’re living in the matrix,
you’re not connected to the source, you’ve lost your connection with what is
real and what is beautiful.3
Of course, what Brand says here is partly based on a discursive construction

of what is deemed “beautiful” from his current perspective and reflective
pursuit of happiness. But he argues from a Jungian position that there is
something innate in our collective unconscious, in our humanness, that we
can and should access in order to connect with a stronger spiritual level of
humanness that operates beyond material desires.
Brand was also asked the following question by an audience member:
“What would you say about what Ghandi said that we have to become the
change that we wish to see in the world?” Brand responded with further
self-critique:
I think … that as an aphorism it’s a bloody useful one because my old

personal tendency can be to get well high on the rhetoric and the chatting
and the showing off and then be a bit of a dick in my private life. … My mate
Matt used to say, ‘you talk about socialism and sharing but in your own
actual life you’re very intense’. This is why I am working hard because I am
actually a viciously authoritative, controlling man. I think I am right. That’s
why I am half decent in a row with them pricks because I know how they
think, I know how they work, I’ve tried their way of living and now I want to
be the peoples’ narcissist [audience laughs].
As Jung stated, “Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an

understanding of ourselves” (1963:247). It is not the case that Brand is
oblivious to his own shortcomings and problems. He is critical and
reflective of his contradictions, desires, and follies. The Jungian shadow is
central to the instinctive and emotive traits that Brand talks about here. By
confronting those aspects of the shadow that he unconsciously allowed to
control his addictive, selfish, intense, and materialistic behavior in the past,
he is consciously trying to manage those traits through this process of
individuation. Rather than launching personalized projections of others
through his rhetoric, his criticisms are often contextualized through his
attention to the system that he and others are part of. From Brand’s per-
spective, it is only through a process of individuation that we can under-
stand our place in the world and manage those desires that he argues
contemporary capitalism encourages us to exercise through materialism,
greed, and selfishness.
Another audience member asked Brand the following question: “I was
just wondering how you felt about Page 3, yes or no?”4 Brand’s response is
interesting since the yes/no dichotomy is redundant from his perspective:
It’s not yes or no for me because I am a human heterosexual male. So, on one
level [Brand does an ape impression] like that. And on the other level it
130 D. KELSEY
eventually clicks in: ‘No Russell, you’re cheapening society and yourself and
womankind’. … So, I am trying to be the person who thinks there should be
no page 3. I am trying to be the person who thinks we shouldn’t culturally
objectify women on page 3. So, I’m against page 3.
This is an example of how Brand engages with his own affective experiences
and desires whilst reflecting on them and confronting them with his own
moral code. In doing so, he is managing the unconscious instincts and
complexes rather than suppressing them and projecting his own shadow by
pointing accusations at other people.
This avoidance of shadow projection is a recurring feature in Brand’s
rhetoric. In other clips from the Trews Brand makes a point of saying Philip
Green is not evil, he just avoids tax because the system allows him to. He
also says David Cameron is not the devil, he is just helping out his wealthy
mates because the system allows him to. In a Huffington Post5 interview he
refuses to commit to the idea that Tory voters are nasty people. Mehdi
Hasan’s question to Brand refers to an interesting line that Brand previ-
ously wrote in the New Statesman where he described individualism and
conservativism through emotive forms—the impulsive and affective
dynamics that we have to grapple with in our humanness, which feed into
our cultural desires and actions: “The right has all the advantages, just as
the devil has all the best tunes. Conservatism appeals to our selfishness and
fear, our desire and self-interest; they neatly nurture and then harvest the
inherent and incubating individualism” (Brand, New Statesman 2013). In
his New Statesman piece, Brand simultaneously engages with natural,
neurological needs and the ideological tensions that subsequently operate
from our perceptions of individual need and material values.6 In response,
Hasan says: “There’s a lot of conservatives who say, ‘It’s so unfair, the left
think we are evil, we think the left are misguided, they think we are evil, it’s
so unfair. Do you think people who are right-wing or conservative are not
nice people?” Brand replies:
I don’t agree with those kinds of labels because I think it is very prohibitive
and prevents us from advancing. So, I would never condemn anyone for
being not a nice person. But like what that brilliant Russian writer [Aleksandr
Solzhenitsyn] said: ‘The line between good and evil lies not between cultures
and religions or creeds but through every human heart. So, I recognize in
myself the capacity for selfishness, for lustfulness, for egotism. And because I
recognize these qualities in myself I would prefer a culture that didn’t
celebrate, exacerbate, stimulate the most negative aspects of our species [and]
inculcate them [and] reward them financially until we get into a cultural
hysteria where we are destroying the planet. So, it’s not like I feel like Tories
are evil; it is an evil system and that system shouldn’t be advanced. And if it
continues to be advanced we won’t have a … planet to live on.
Brand is consciously aware of his place in the system and the vulnerable
emotive traits of his own desires that he recognizes in other people. This
suggests there is a more nuanced engagement in Brand’s rhetoric than
those critics in the press acknowledge due to their own ideological inter-
ests. As Fenton pointed out earlier, Brand accepts that he does not have all
the answers. Neither is it the case that Brand claims to know how every-
thing will work after the revolution he calls for. It is not the case that Brand
proposes one fixed or clear ideology. But he feels he knows that we need a
new ideological vision, which can be mobilized by an embracement of
mythology: a recontextualization of archetypal conventions that are pre-
sent in the doctrine of ancient myths and religions; in the deep historical
depths of our psyche; mobilized from the archetypal apparatus of the
collective unconscious; which has been repressed and neglected through
modern developments of our collective consciousness. So, let’s look at
some of the ways in which Brand proposes this, with Campbell playing an
important part in his concept of a spiritual revolution.
SPIRITUAL REVOLUTION AND STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS

The symbolic and dialogical qualities of “revolution” provide an immediate
challenge for Brand. For many societies, the concept of revolution is
connotatively entrenched in old clichés and historical events that arouse
suspicion or at least pessimism as much as optimism. On the one hand,
Brand has acknowledged that many dated concepts of socialism are not
compatible with contemporary society. He openly discusses how ideologies
influenced by communism have failed, since the point at which policies and
philosophies are implemented by those in power they become abused. But
he openly refers to the fundamental and sound principle of sharing, which
is often at the core of previously abused ideologies and religions. In a
Western sense revolution is also often associated with dated and tired
concepts of Marxism and the radical left that has long projected a simple
narrative of struggle, revolution, resolution, and utopia. This mythological
narrative is not only a simplistic story but in practice it has historically
132 D. KELSEY
struggled to overcome the complex challenges of the human psyche that

stretch way beyond the reductionist perspectives that project capitalism as
the fundamental problem of our society.
For Brand this is a problem because the concept of revolution is
entrenched in other language and symbols that influence ideological per-
ceptions of its meaning. The substance of Brand’s philosophy cannot
override these justifiable historical connections—in the same way that
Brand makes connections to historical events and figures in his own
arguments (see Messiah Complex 2015). But despite the criticism that
Brand has received, a regurgitation of the same ideological flaws and fail-
ures of past leftist agendas are not what Brand claims he intended in his
concept of revolution. It seems Brand is trying to re-mythologize the
concept of revolution through a greater understanding of spirituality, the
collective unconscious and archetypal dynamics of collective consciousness
—the affective apparatus of the transpersonal. This is not to say his
propositions are right and his critics are wrong. But it is significant that so
many critics are responding to static historical connotations of
“revolution”.
Nonetheless, from Brand’s perspective he is much more concerned with
a revolution of consciousness through collective (Jungian) individuation
rather than monolithic or dogmatic leftist ideology. In an episode of the
Trews Brand defends faith and the moral codes of religion as potential
options for tackling societal problems since he believes that “old leftist
ideas” or “old revolutionary notions” do not work anymore. When Mehdi
Hasan asked Brand if he is a “lefty”, Brand explained:
I don’t think so because I don’t agree with those parameters… What I am

saying is that that kind of stuff is kind of illusory and is designed to trap you
within a paradigm in which we don’t have very much power. But in tradi-
tional terms … Communism in its traditional form, before it went a bit
genocidal, it was just meant to be about sharing [audience laughs] and then it
got spoilt.5
Brand accepts here that he is “lefty” as oppose to “righty” but as he

explains above, the reductionist dichotomy of that paradigm is what he is
resistant to. Much of what Brand calls for is dialogically reflective of
left-wing ideological values to most audiences. Hence it becomes extre-
mely difficult to shift those connotative labels and categories. Even though
Brand calls for a new ideology that operates beyond the scope of his own
propositions, his discourse is restricted by the mythological parameters that

we remain entrapped by through historical spectrums of ideological
struggle. This paradigm is reflected in the case that Robert Webb put to
Brand in an open letter responding to his essay in the New Statesman:
I understand your ache for the luminous, for a connection beyond yourself.
Russell, we all feel like that. Some find it in music or literature, some in the
wonders of science and others in religion. But it isn’t available any more in
revolution. We tried that again and again, and we know that it ends in death
camps, gulags, repression, and murder. In brief, and I say this with the
greatest respect, please read some fucking Orwell.7
Brand responded by clarifying his opposition to the exploitation of

humanity before explaining what he means by revolution: “When I talk
about revolution I am talking about revolution of consciousness. I am
talking about building upon the shoulders of great men like… Ghandi and
Dr King … non-violent civil protest. Absolute total disobedience… is what
I am talking about. … I am not saying let’s go and smash people’s stuff up,
let’s certainly not kill people”.5
In the opening chapter of Revolution, titled, “Heroes’ Journey” Brand
discusses the material wanting of consumerist culture and how we possess a
feeling of needing more than we have. He reflects on consumerism as part
of the capitalist religion that has become our modern mythology through
its own metaphors of worship, replacing the churches and gods of the past:
Joseph Campbell … said, ‘If you want to understand what’s most important
to a society, don’t examine its art or literature, simply look at its biggest
buildings’. In Medieval societies, the biggest buildings were its churches and
palaces; using Campbell’s method we can assume these were feudal cultures
that revered their leaders and worshipped God. In modern Western cities, the
biggest buildings are the banks – bloody great towers that dominate the
docklands – and the shopping centers, which architecturally ape the cathe-
drals they’ve replaced: domes, spires, eerie, celestial calm, fountains for fonts,
food courts for pews. (2014: 8)
Of course, Brand does not suggest we return to medieval culture or reli-

gious oppression. One could easily argue that the architectural accom-
plishments of the church were symbolic of another period in which equality
and concentrations of wealth were used by those in power, through its own
mythology of that time, to control and oppress people. Brand argues that
134 D. KELSEY
the cultural traits of consumerism and the architecture of banks and

shopping centers denotes a spiritual emptiness in the contemporary
mythology of our time. He sees the problems with modern society
occurring from our mythology that has become centered on a culture of
material wanting, monetary values and the endless desire for a short-term
fix. For Brand, the architecture of modern capitalism reflects the mytho-
logical prism through which we have become socially conditioned to think,
feel, and believe. In an episode of the Trews, Brand answers the question of
whether capitalism is actually a religion. In response to an audience com-
ment that suggested religion is more of a problem than capitalism, he
responds:
Capitalism is a religion. It’s an ideology that has its books, it has its rituals, it
has its ministers, it has its institutions. Capitalism is a religion. If you are a
heretic, you will be condemned. If you disagree with its systems and its rules,
you’ll be imprisoned. If you become an expert in it – a high priest or a high
minister – you’ll become richly rewarded. It is a religion and it is the problem.
… [We] have a dominant global ideology that turns everything into a
monetized resource when really the dominant ideology has got to be
preservation of the whole, hasn’t it?8
Brand does not suggest we will ever abolish hierarchies and agrees we need
egalitarian systems for organizing society. But his ideological vision does
see monetization as a direct obstacle to collective progress and individua-
tion. He acknowledges his own ideological conformity in his past belief
that aspiration, money, drugs, and sex would make him happy. But those
things only filled a short-term void that drove him to misery and addiction.
Brand reflects on this as a time when he was so unreflectively wrapped up in
this other mythological world of fame and celebrity that he became
embroiled in these cyclical behaviors and desires that left him feeling
unfulfilled and always wanting more. Brand argues that communal myths
are what we need to overcome these tendencies and progress collectively.
CONSCIOUSNESS AND COLLECTIVE MYTHOLOGY

Campbell once made the point that different religions need a common
myth to recognize their shared aspirations in order to unite them and pull
them beyond perceived differences. As Campbell also said: “We need
myths that will identify the individual not with his local group but with the
planet.” Brand draws on Campbell in discussing the necessity for a com-

munal myth:
Joseph Campbell said all the problems we are experiencing – economic dis-
parity, ecological meltdown, crime, alienation, atomization, war, starvation –
are the result of us having no communal myth. A story that unites us, defines
us, in relationship to ourselves, other people, and nature. Campbell says the
myths that we do have are antiquated and irrelevant ‘desert myths’.
Christianity, Islam and Judaism, the dominant faiths in our culture, were
devised to guide people living in very different circumstances to our own – put
simply, deserts. How do the teachings of Christ or Abraham or Muhammed
help us in the modern, post-industrial, secular world? (2014: 37)
Brand does not argue that the latter are obsolete since he shares many of
the messages they sought to deliver through religious metaphor (a point to
which I will return later). However, the problem lies in the fact that these
religions have often been used to divide, control, and oppress people. As
Brand points out, the resistant forms of these religious ideologies that
actually “testify against oppression, segregation, and conflict, which would
seem to be the most vital bits, are consistently ignored” (2014: 37). So not
only does religious doctrine hold some of the most powerful mythology of
our existence, which draws semantically, symbolically, and spiritually on
our deepest archetypal forms of consciousness but it also becomes recon-
textualized and ideologically manipulated—diachronically and synchroni-
cally—across transpersonal terrains. This involves the individual realizations
of particular messages that are adopted and adapted to serve circumstantial
interests of time and place in society, as well as the collective forms and
shared messages that are taken from religious ideologies by societies,
groups, and movements in transnational contexts. However, as Brand and
Campbell point out, if we do away with these myths altogether we risk
abolishing the moral guidance that accentuates unity and highlights our
sacred consciousness. In doing so, Brand argues that our moral values and
ideological vision becomes increasingly focused on materialism and indi-
vidualism (not individuation).
Regarding the latter, it is interesting that individualism can be recon-
textualized into different ideological forms. In the context that Brand uses
the word here, he is concerned with a reduction of social and cultural
awareness and values that recognize the importance of caring about other
people, sharing with others, and understanding your place and role in
136 D. KELSEY
society that is not only about wealth and one’s own material interest. But
this ethos is often confused with stereotypes of the “wishy-washy left” or a
form of socialism that is “anti-aspiration” or “punishing the successful”.
Perhaps this dichotomy is unnecessary. It seems that Brand is arguing that
individual aspiration is helpful and taking individual responsibility is pro-
gressive—much like Campbell argued himself. Individualism in this sense is
not the problem. But the extremities of divisive individualism that reduces
everything to competitive monetary values and the pursuit of material
desire is where Brand feels we are prohibiting our spiritual potential to
discover the mythological grounding of our humanness that can collec-
tively connect us.
In Brand’s attention to collective spirituality and states of consciousness,
he considers the affective dynamics of cultural rituals that oscillate between
the tensions of the self and the collective. For example, he discusses the
ancient Chinese practice of Wu-Wei that enables “a state of spontaneous
flow” (ibid., 39). Brand uses a footballer focusing in a penalty shootout—
blanking out personal thoughts and pressures to focus on a greater, shared
objective—as an analogy for understanding this state of flow.9 Similarly,
Brand expands this analogy to football stands where fans often transcend a
typical focus on the self to the collective state of desire for a greater cause.
Many readers might associate this with negative factors in football—the
tribalism and hooliganism that is as destructive and divisive as it is unifying
and collective. Others will also see this analogy as entirely irrational; a
pointless worship of overpaid prima donnas. But, purely in terms of the
affective dynamic concerned, it is a powerful example that many millions of
people experience every week, globally, during a football season. And it is
not always played out in negative behavior. For example, football fans will
understand the feeling when you are standing with thousands of fellow
fans, “signing the same songs as you, craving the same outcome as you,
there is a synchronicity that takes you out of the self. Where else do we get
to cry and pray and laugh and sing in communication these days?” (Brand
2014:42).
Like Jung and Campbell, Brand argues that there is a greater level of
consciousness deep within our humanness that we are all connected by. He
refers to Campbell’s rigorous work on comparative mythology and religion
to make this point:
In his global studies of the stories humans tell each other to make sense of the
world, he found astonishing consistencies in the formula. Folk in Africa,
Iceland, Nairobi, and Wisconsin are all telling each other similar stories. How
the fuck is that happening if we’re a bunch of dislocated individuals living in a
bunch of dislocated tribes? A way of understanding it might be that the
unconscious mind is up to all sorts of stuff all day long that I’m not taking
responsibility for: blinking, peristalsis, digestion, fighting bacteria, fashioning
perfect little stools that could be sold at a village fete with a flag stuck in them
saying ‘Russell’s unconscious mind made this’. Everybody’s anatomical
unconscious is doing more or less the same thing, unless they are ‘deficient’
or ‘mutated’. David Eagleman said, ‘Thinking that you are in charge of your
totality of being, with all its complex facilities, is like a stowaway on an ocean
steamliner thinking he’s the captain of the ship.’ (ibid., 72)
Brand has made recurring points about the significance of consciousness in

our constructions of reality—meaning we do not observe reality but we
create it through our senses. Hence Brand’s sympathy with Lanza’s theory
of biocentrism (2009).10 Brand endorses a sense of endless unknowing in
the notion that our existence cannot be solely explained by science. Brand
argues that even science relies upon processes of measuring and observing
that are products of our consciousness. In other words, he feels we cannot
fully explain the affective, emotive, and sensory foundations of conscious-
ness or the connections between consciousness and reality.
Take the following comment from a response that claims to debunk to
Lanza’s biocentrism theory in a paper on the Nirmukta website:
The impulse to see human life as central to the existence of the universe is
manifested in the mystical traditions of practically all cultures. It is so fun-
damental to the way pre-scientific people viewed reality that it may be, to a
certain extent, ingrained in the way our psyche has evolved, like the need for
meaning and the idea of a supernatural God. As science and reason dismantle
the idea of the centrality of human life in the functioning of the objective
universe, the emotional impulse has been to resort to finer and finer misin-
terpretations of the science involved. Mystical thinkers use these misrepre-
sentations of science to paint over the gaps in our scientific understanding of
the universe, belittling, in the process, science, and its greatest heroes.
(Wadhawan and Kamal 2009)11
Whilst this challenges Lanza and other “mystic” standpoints, it still rec-
ognizes the ingrained (evolved) aspects of our psyche as the potential
reason for our recurring belief patterns and emotive impulses. It does not
deny the affective significance of archetypal qualities. Science needs myth in
138 D. KELSEY
order to communicate its ideas, its journey, its quest for knowledge and its
ultimate goals, which all follow familiar mythological traits. Science has its
own communities, institutions and disciplines that have their structures,
cultures, tensions, and narratives that are fundamentally driven by our
human tendencies. Whatever side one might take in this argument, the
archetypal conventions of affective apparatus are central to the mytholog-
ical constructions of scientific, atheist, mystic, religious and spiritual dis-
courses, and ideologies. As Wadhawan said, science has its own heroes who
are celebrated through scientific accomplishments that others seek to
undermine.
In relation to heroism, another significant example in Brand’s work is his
stand-up show, Messiah Complex. The theme of the show is based around a
psychological condition known as the Messiah Complex12 through which
he mobilizes a discussion on the affective dynamics and mythology of
particular heroic icons:
I’m talking about Malcolm X, Che Guevara, Ghandi and Jesus Christ and
how these figures are significant culturally and how icons are appropriated
and used to designate consciousness and meaning, particularly posthu-
mously. … They’re all people that died for a cause, they’re all people whose
icons are used to designate meaning – perhaps not in the manner in which
they intended.13
During this show, Brand tackles some of the awkward historical com-
plexities that the mythology around these cultural icons often overlooks.
For example, when Ghandi’s wife was sick he is insisted she would not be
given penicillin, which he saw as Western medical treatment, and his wife
subsequently died. When Ghandi fell ill a few weeks later he accepted the
same treatment. Brand draws attention to these kinds of complexities to
acknowledge the human flaws of these icons that exist beyond the Hero
myth: “Human heroes are incapable of fulfilling the roles of Gods because
they are flawed. They are not distilled, divine qualities as God’s are sup-
posed to be but flawed even in the case of truly great mean like Ghandi”.
The heroes discussed in Messiah Complex are all martyrs who died for a
cause—it is this sacrificial heroism that Brand argues has archetypally
revaluated their posthumous reputations. Brand discusses the purifying and
cleansing nature of death, which has its own archetypal conventions across
the transpersonal terrains of affective apparatus. Death often stimulates
stories that mythologize people to suit a symbolic meaning that serves a

moral purpose (a point to which I will return shortly).
Throughout the Messiah Complex and other public appearances Brand
continually reflects on his own behavioral and psychological quirks as part
of a process of individuation. Instead of re-mythologizing himself in a way
that buries and suppresses less admirable characteristics and qualities,
Brand confronts them to show how the struggles within his own shadow
are part of the collective struggle he says we should all engage with. Brand
has explicitly adopted this affective ethos by conquering his drug addiction
and proposing ideas around consciousness, mythology, and ideology to
form a new story:
This answer is: By making connections that predicate on the better aspects of
our nature, by making connections with one another here, by not getting
distracted, by not getting deluded, by not yielding to the uglier aspects of our
own nature. Part of me is a greedy narcissist. Part of me is a selfish guy. Part
of me is full of lust. But another part of me just wants to help people. So, if
you tell me what you want to do, like the mums on the [Carpenter] estate,
I’ll turn up and show off on their behalf. If Vivian says, “you’ve got to do this
thing for climate change”, I’ll turn up and do it. Just develop some instincts.
We know what’s wrong. We are not idiots. We know what’s right. Help each
other when we are in need. … Find it within yourself. Start within. Change
within. Tune into this frequency we have found together, unify, and con-
front. We’ll be fine!
Like Campbell, Brand feels we need stories and we need myths to survive.
But he argues that we need a new ideology that will alter and progress our
awakening towards collective consciousness that overcomes the economic
and environmental struggles we currently face.
Brand tries to break down barriers and pushes boundaries—individually,
collectively, socially, and psychologically. He wants to step back from what
we take for granted and fundamentally reset the parameters for thinking
about the spiritual potential that exists beyond the material world. Following
similar notions to Campbell and Jung, Brand claims to experience spiritual
connections (through his “awakening”) to a level of existence and individ-
uation that exists in the innate power and potential of mythology. Brand’s
paradoxical social position, foolish depictions in the press, his faults and
downfalls, personal struggles, and destructive characteristics all function
within his unpredictable persona through which he challenges social orders.
By Brand’s own admission, he sees himself as a trickster.
140 D. KELSEY
BRAND AS TRICKSTER HERO

By understanding Brand’s philosophy on consciousness, revolution, and
collective myth, we can examine his trickster qualities in more detail. Since
it is the trickster archetype that operates through Brand’s divisive yet
popular public persona. Brand’s trickster traits enable him to move cross
boundaries and borders in order to interrupt dichotomies and synergize
abstract philosophies and ontologies. The sections below provide an
overview of various cases where Brand’s trickster qualities have pushed
boundaries, challenged social orders, or made a case for breaking down
barriers that maintain the status quo.
Morning Joe Meets Dionysus

Brand made an appearance on MSNBC’s Morning Joe show to promote
Messiah Complex and review the headlines for the day. Throughout the
appearance Brand became increasingly frustrated by what he deemed to be
a rude and unprofessional panel hosting the show. After pretending to take
over the show by raising questions for debates about Edward Snowden and
Bradley Manning, Brand responds to the repeatedly trivial conversation
that awkwardly develops between the anchors commenting on Brand’s
appearance:
Look beyond the superficial. That is the problem with current affairs, you
forget about what’s important and allow the agenda to be decided by
superficial information. What am I saying, what am I talking about? Don’t
think about what I am wearing, these things are redundant and superficial.
Brand’s behavior becomes increasingly and deliberately provocative until

the show eventually goes to an advertisement break. Brand’s interjections
completely throw the format of the show and leave the hosts embarrassed.
This video appears at the top of a YouTube playlist called Trickster. The
creator of the playlist states: “I have made this selection based on my idea
of the trickster inhabiting aspects of mass media culture. The first video—
the Russell Brand interview on Morning Joe—exemplifies how a Dionysian
trickster eats the facade of television whole.” One can see why the creator
chose this example. The description of Brand as a Dionysian trickster is
significant because it provides an appropriate way of understanding the

chaos that Brand brings to the format of a current affairs show that was not
comfortable engaging with the level of discussion that Brand wanted to
deliver through his guest appearance.
The comparison with Dionysus is also important because it is entwined
with the Apollonian qualities that have been classically depicted between
Apollo and Dionysus. On the one hand, Brand creates chaos and breaks
down the accepted order (or format) of the show by making deliberately
provocative comments and observations towards the hosts in order to make
them uncomfortable and highlight the absurdity of its trivial substance. But
in doing so, Brand tries to raise serious questions about their professional
and ethical responsibilities on a rational basis. He addresses what he sees as
important concerns in current affairs beyond their fixation with the trivial,
superficial aspects of culture that he deems to be redundant. So it is sig-
nificant that Brand’s motivations for this behavior are stimulated by
Apollonian tendencies through which he desires to produce a more rea-
soned and rational public discourse. Throughout much of Brand’s activism
and calls for revolution (or collective individuation) we see Dionysian
behavior and chaotic interjections symultaneously occurring from
Apollonian qualities where Brand calls for an awakening that looks beyond
the emotive and instinctive baser desires and distractions of life.
This is a good example of how Apollo and Dionysus—the sons of Zeus
—are not oppositional metaphors or dichotomized rivals of mythology.
Rather, they actually reflect the entwined and complementary qualities of
human nature. Brand brings chaos to a space that he sees as something
equally chaotic in its trivial form that fails to engage audiences with current
affairs in a way that he feels it has a responsibility to do so. However, as we
see in other examples of Brand’s activism and rhetoric, he is aware and
accepting of the emotive and Dionysian qualities of our psyche. He avoids
making the mistake that Nietzsche said ancient Greece made in its overly
Apollonian reasoning that lost the connection with its own Dionysian
collective qualities. Whilst Brand calls to move beyond our baser primal
motives he still reflects the importance of Dionysian qualities in our psyche,
which can be harnessed in different ways depending on one’s ideological
preferences.
142 D. KELSEY
The Pied Piper of Hamelin

The chaotic nature of the trickster is reflected in Brand’s attempt to
encourage young people to question the world around them. Brand’s
book, the Pied Piper of Hamelin (2014), is a practical example of how he
believes storytelling and mythology can be used progressively on an
affective level to raise levels of consciousness beyond current public dis-
course. Brand believes that fairy-tales and folk stories provide codes that
can be used to “unlock aspects of our consciousness and to affect and
impact the way that we see the world. Once we change the way children
see the world we can do all sorts of stuff”. In a Guardian interview Brand
was asked what he feels the tale of the Pied Piper means and why he
rewrote it:
I think the Pied Piper is such an interesting figure. When you think about it’s
weird what he did, taking them children away and it makes you ask questions.
Why did he do it? Is that okay? Why did it happen? What’s the story trying to
tell us? The Pied Pieper makes you think. There’s something about it. …
That the Pied Piper’s pipe leads the children away with a pipe is really sig-
nificant because music is something that has a powerful effect that we can’t
really understand. It’s a metaphor for the other things that have an effect on
us that we can’t see or even really understand. I’m talking about love, god
etc. When I was a little kid I hadn’t heard of things like “be in the moment”
and didn’t know about invisible forces you can access, or that you shouldn’t
get distracted by materialism. But those things are in folk tales and fairy tales
from all over the world. That’s why they are important.14
The affective qualities that Brand discusses here are beyond language and
representation. They are conceptual, embodied, and metaphysical. The Pied
Piper’s actions in this tale reflect a notion that children respond to affective
conventions operating beyond materiality; their innocence leaves them
susceptible to the Pied Piper’s power unlike the adults who reflect moral and
spiritual deficits in their actions. Much like the case of Dionysus and the
entwined tensions that operate through the complimentary Apollonian
archetype, the trickster in Brand’s Pied Piper functions through this para-
digm of chaos coming to disrupt order whilst stating the price of spiritual
disconnection through materialism: “In a way the rats are chaos with no
rules and the Piper is order. The rats bring chaos to this place that has a
plasticity to it and the Piper in a way spells out what the price is. I think he’s a
trickster and tricksters in mythology (think of Prometheus or Hermes) are

always there to bring about change.” It is through the Pied Piper that Brand
expresses the tendencies of his own trickster characteristics and he reflects
upon the archetypal qualities of the trickster in himself:
More than anything else I’m the trickster. It makes more sense to me.
Whenever you talk about change you’re put in a moral position. People say:
“You’re asking for change? You’d better become perfect immediately! How
come you’ve got a house then if you want things to change? Why don’t you
go and live in the gutter!” I say, but I’ve just pointed out some economic
inequality! “Yeah well you have to go and live in the gutter if you’re going to
say that, give away all your money.” But the Pied Piper isn’t really good or
bad. The same trickster figure occurs in the form of Loki in Nordic myth,
Coyote in native American myth and in African myths. Ancient Egyptian had
these weird kestrels. I like the figure that comes in and says what you think of
as normal isn’t normal.
Archetypal mythology is central to Brand’s thinking here. Much of

Campbell’s work provided examples of these anthropomorphic characters
that have recurred in stories from societies all over the world at different
moments in time. The ideological opposition that Brand describes in the
criticism he gets reflects the level of discomfort that tricksters bring to the
established social order. Institutions and social groups who are comfortable
with the way things are can make examples of those who call for change by
accusing them of hypocrisy. But the trickster’s purpose is not to settle the
argument or become the beacon of moral enlightenment, they are some-
times there to challenge orders and mix things up with chaos that raises
otherwise absent questions.
This is similar to the case of Farage who defied expectations to bring
about significant change. He does not aim to be a beacon of moral
enlightenment. Whether this change is seen as a good thing depends on
your ideological position. But another similarity occurs in Farage’s resig-
nation—the change (Brexit) was his quest rather than the detailed plans
and conditions for leaving. He is there to mix things up rather than provide
pragmatic solutions. In the case of bankers, the aim to bring about change
might not be their intention at all but it is often their effect, due to their
supposed follies and failings. Their trickster qualities reflect a different
cultural function to this archetype compared with Farage, Brand, or the
Pied Piper due to the broader socio-economic and paradoxical world that
144 D. KELSEY
they work within. In the case of Brand there is an explicit awareness and
embracement of one’s own archetypal qualities and self-mythologizing that
informs a conscious effort to question and challenge those “common
sense” things that often go unquestioned.
Republicanism and the UK Monarchy

Another established social order that Brand has challenged as trickster is
the UK Royal Family. Ideological tensions around monarchy systems often
reflect the cultural struggles to break away from traditions that are precious
to the mythology of a nation with strong identity values and rituals. They
are often historically and symbolically engrained systems that societies
hereditarily endorse across generations who embrace the same mythology,
albeit through subtle “modernizations” and evolvement over time, in order
to keep them compatible within the social order that they are part of.
Brand sees the monarchy as an example of how the boundaries laid out by
the hegemonic rituals of our current mythology are prohibiting collective
individuation. Rather than critiquing the monarchy for being a cultural and
mythological construction, Brand acknowledges the value of such rituals
and traditions. But it is what the monarchy as a tradition represents that he
objects to: “Pageantry and tradition are used as a veil to guard privilege and
nonsense. I love a bit of tradition. I love a bit of ritual. I love a bit of
mythology. I think we should all have rituals that tie us together as a
community. But rituals that enforce inequality should be looked at.”15
In this episode of the Trews Brand reflects on these personal feelings of
connection to national tradition that he feels he should look beyond and
overcome:
I come from a normal British family. I’ve got a tea towel with Diana on it
downstairs somewhere. My grandmother … loved the royal family. I watched
that royal wedding on the tele when I was in America. … In my silly, daft
heart I am very pro-royal. But that can’t prevent me from thinking about
things rationally.
Later in the same episode, whilst talking about the public cost of having a
monarchy, and the absurdity of the public spectacle around the royal baby,
Brand makes the following points:
I in my heart still like the monarchy but I’ve got to be more rational now.
This is the time for change. This is the time for awakening. When you say, ‘I
want the royal family’, what you are saying is, ‘I don’t want 9000 nurses.’ …
I like the spectacle but I know you can’t have a symbol that enforces and
endorses privilege. … The problem is, the underlying narrative is [saying]
you’re not as good as them and it is okay for some people to be in privilege
whilst other people are starving, in a Western, modern, technologically
advanced democracy.
During one TV interview in the US Brand was asked, as a subject of the

Queen, to explain how the monarchy works. In response, Brand describes,
albeit comically, how despite his inclinations to resist against the class
system he is still affected by the authority and sense of ore that has cul-
turally developed over time:
Hierarchical structures that extenuate privilege and oppress people I’m not so
into. But then when I meet royals I get all giddy. … When I met that
[Prince] Charles I was a bit embarrassed because I didn’t want to be sub-
jugated by class – we in our country have a class system that makes you feel
like … you want to fight against it – but when you meet an actual royal you
think ‘oooar I’ve seen you on my money’.
Although Brand is delivering his account in a comic manner, he is raising a

significant point about the banal nature of national identity (Billig 1995)
and the affective power of its mythology. We become used to seeing certain
icons and symbols on a daily basis through some of the most routine parts
of our lives. Brand recognizes his ideological opposition to the hierarchical
structure and privilege of a monarchy system. But that does not necessarily
mean he can detach himself from other emotive and embodied reactions
that are stimulated in particular situations, like when he met Prince
Charles. What Brand sees as his rational and reasoned objection against a
monarchy system does not escape the affective qualities that operate within
the traditions and institutions of national mythologies. These are highly
significant cultural practices that we become attached to, often through
hereditarily mythological and transpersonal mechanisms.
Semiotic Analysis of Diana and Kate

In another episode of the Trews,16 David Baddiel is a guest with Brand.
They analyze newspaper stories about Kate Middleton and how stories
146 D. KELSEY
about the monarchy reinforce hierarchy through archetypes and myths.

They end up in a debate about Kate and Diana because Brand argued that
Diana functioned as a “better symbol” than Kate by holding more pow-
erful aesthetic qualities in her mythic role than Kate does at present.
Baddiel took issue with Brand for mythologizing Diana after decon-
structing a story about Kate—but for Brand this not a problem and he
continued to make his case:
Brand: I am not saying better as in more worthy. I’m saying [she]

functions better with greater efficacy. … Not more superior in
any other way than efficacy. She [Kate] is not affective because
she is not evocative enough. … If you see her with her eyelashes
done, looking over a medical mask it [won’t] have the same
impact. … I think the phenomena of Diana emerged because she
was in a mythic social position and she had certain innate mythic
qualities or aesthetic qualities that could be allied to her mythic
role. And I think that’s what occurs when symbols are used
successfully…
Baddiel: That’s really interesting, I don’t agree with it. I think with all
these people [royals], it’s all poured into them. Nothing comes
from them. [Diana] was just an ordinary aristocratic woman who
found herself in this situation, which was representative of
something which was a sea change in the way that people were
being differential to the royal family. Then because she was
unhappy in her marriage and was unhappy about it that allowed
her to become a tragic figure having originally been a princess
figure and people love that narrative … there’s an urge to story
amongst people and the type of classical mythic story, which is
that one—the princess whose marriage fell apart…
Brand: Yeah of course, but there is a casting component to stories, and
she [Diana] is good casting.
Baddiel: Yeah, but if this falls apart [William and Kate], then she will be
good casting.
Brand: Naaaa. I think there is a truth to the myths. … There is an
inherent truth in the myths. … But what’s problematic is that
these codes, these mythical structures, are being used to impose
a social order which is injudicious and one of inequality. But the
idea of having a Virgin Princess, a Divine Mother, a sacrificed,
martyred woman—all these mythical archetypes are valuable and
important, it’s just we need to reclaim them for a different story,

a story that’s truly representative for the people. A story that
truly tells that we inherently, innately, and equally have these
qualities that should be celebrated or in cases of the subjugated
underclass should… rise up.
Both points from Brand and Baddiel are interesting here. As Brand later
points out, they are both making similar arguments about the significance
of narrative and mythology in the news. As they show, the archetypal roles
and qualities are significant to the powerful narrative that readers respond
to. Baddiel’s points are directly concerned with deconstructing particular
images and representations to uncover a truth beyond the text. Brand’s
position is slightly different and more reflective of Campbell and Jung since
it recognizes the affective and innate qualities of mythic archetypes within
us, which we must use and understand but how they are used and under-
stood is of a significant ideological concern. Baddiel on the other hand was
cautious about using any mythical archetypes through his own analysis
since he wanted to avoid the reusing of myth through his own critique.
Whilst I agree with Brand—we need to find ways of using myth progres-
sively in society—Baddiel’s points about narrative are still valid.
Brand and Baddiel go on to agree that either way the newspapers invest
in key figures such as Kate in order to fulfil our urge for a good story and
their motivations are economic because they must sell good stories.
Equally, the monarchy must continue to reinvent itself and connect with
the public so the current narrative for William and Kate fulfils another
purpose on their part. One other point that Baddiel raises in this video is
the significance of death in the mythical status of Diana. His points about
Kate also focus on the fact that different moments in time will see her
archetypal role evolve according to her circumstances. For example, in
Brand’s Messiah Complex he makes a similar point in relation to Diana:
When she first came to prominence she was rendered as the archetype of the
Virgin. … In the second archetype she appears as the Divine Mother. … In
the third archetype, when their marriage broke down she was rendered the
archetype of the whore. … Then, when she died … now she is rendered as
the fourth available archetype, the martyr, the saint. “Death makes angels of
us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders, smooth as raven’s claws”
said Jim Morrison. Meaning that death has the power to sanitize, to help us
reevaluate the way we see people.
148 D. KELSEY
These archetypal roles are not incidental. As Baddiel and Brand point out,
they serve very specific purposes around narratives, storytelling, selling
newspapers and preserving a hierarchical system. Even through Diana’s
archetypal phase as the whore, there were multiple ideological interests
driving that narrative. As Brand argues, “at the time the marriage broke
down all the Daily Mail wanted to talk about was “OUR COUNTRY’S
GOING TO THAT BROWN MUSLIM GEEZER! WHY IS ONE
OF THEM PRINCES GINGER?” The interdiscursive mechanisms
operating through the kind of perspective Brand refers to here use the
high-profile spectacle of stories about the royal family to stimulate other
emotive and ideological responses from readers. These readers make other
dialogical connections with other stories, especially in relation to ethnicity
and national identity. At that time, the suspicion around Diana’s actions
and affairs were scrutinized as if she was instigating threats to the estab-
lishment, institutional standards, and traditions of the monarchy.
The level of analytical detail that Brand and Baddiel go into during the
video is a fascinating example of multimodal, semiotic deconstruction that
takes places through a popular social media channel (just this Trews video
alone had 74,761 views at the time). This exchange was not an opinionated
rant. It was an intellectual effort to understand the affective qualities of
mythology and how archetypal conventions hold together multiple forms
of communication through popular stories about the monarchy. Again,
Brand’s trickster qualities see him challenging systems, interrupting
established orders and discussing the need to usurp repressive hierarchical
systems that enforce and maintain inequality. As his other examples in
relation to the monarchy have shown, he is willing to critique cultural icons
that many would argue we should respect without scrutiny.
Science, Religion, and God

In questioning how we think about life, Brand challenges and embraces
both science and religion in ways that show how mythology is a significant
and binding element to their co-existence. But he can only do this, once
again, through radical rethinking about how we take particular cultural
norms and traditions for granted or how those institutions at the center of
science and religion exploit them as divisive entities.
Brand argues that like religion even science is part of “the language of
the universe”, which is both produced by and restricted to the parameters
of our consciousness. For Brand, it is the sense that there are things our
consciousness can never know, which arouses a powerful feeling within

him:
So, I recognize the potency and the glory of the universe whether it comes in
Christian language, Islamic language, Hindu language, or sometimes in the
language of quantum physics or in art or science. Whenever you feel that
interconnectivity of all things and that unknowable magic – that which can
never be known … by the conscious mind. That makes me feel something
beautiful.
Returning to points raised earlier in the chapter about science and myth,
Brand is not anti-science. But he does question the current order of a world
that sees everything proved through science. For all the controversies and
negativity surrounding religion, he openly embraces it and challenges what
he calls literalist interpretations of religious texts. Nonetheless, Brand
makes a point of not advocating the abandonment of science. Rather, he is
concerned that science has become so oppositional and dichotomized
against religion that consumerist and atheistic material culture reflects a
lack of concern for environmental or collective interest.
Brand argues that we have sought to apply particular ideologies onto
narratives driven by science. In doing so, he argues that science has used
ideologically driven narratives that have become attached to naturalized
forms and theories. In an episode of the Trews17 a viewer commented:
“Humans are selfish by nature get over it”. Brand responded by arguing
that the stories we tell determine the ideological outcomes of our society—
returning to Bottici’s earlier point that mythology is essentially a vehicle for
ideology:
We are also compassionate by nature. … The whole Richard Dawkins selfish

gene theory is an application of an ideology to scientific information. Yes, we
are selfish but in Darwin’s writing there’s many more reference to compas-
sion, co-operation and social behavior among organisms and animals than
there are examples of selfishness. That’s why stories are so important. If we
tell the story of a humankind that are benevolent and compassionate then we
have chances of creating systems, individuals, stories, cultures, countries that
are based on that ideology. If all we focus on is individualism, materialism,
and consumerism, that’s what you’ll get; dislocated lost people who don’t
know how to stick up for one another.
150 D. KELSEY
In fairness to Dawkins he has openly acknowledged the problem of

applying such a metaphor to scientific phenomena and has since admitted it
would have been more appropriate to call it the “Immortal Gene”. Whilst
Dawkins does not use this theory or term to drive or support arguments in
favor of innate selfishness to justify any particular ideology, the metaphor
can be used in this way when it is intertextually adopted to articulate
arguments and ideas in other contexts that are not expressive or reflective
of nature in this sense. For partly this reason, anthropologist Donald
Symons (1981) critiqued Dawkins’ labelling of the Selfish Gene. He argues
that by using “metaphor genes are endowed with properties only sentient
beings can possess, such as selfishness, while sentient beings are stripped of
these properties and called machines”. Furthermore, Symonds argues that
the “anthropomorphism of genes…obscures the deepest mystery in the life
sciences: the origin and nature of mind” (ibid).
In Revolution Brand extends this argument for rediscovering faith so we
can create a new story: “If all there is, is only that which we can prove, then
we live as disconnected, condemned animals. We need faith now more than
ever because our ideologies are obscuring the fact that we have more
important things in common than in conflict”. Again, it is easy to dismiss
Brand’s position as a recontextualization of previous mystic visions, reli-
gious dogma, or even other leftist discourses. However, by referring to
Campbell’s earlier point (“All religions are true in that the metaphor is
true”), Brand supports the contemporary necessity and value of faith. He
argues that “religion is to remind us that we are a temporary expression of a
subtler and connected electromagnetic realm unknowable on our band-
width of consciousness. The divining principle is oneness not division, not
opposition”. Brand argues that religions are “literary maps, not literal
doctrines, a signpost to the unknowable, a hymn to the inconceivable”
(ibid., 38). This reflects Campbell’s (1988) view that God is not something
we can fully comprehend—it is beyond the point of knowing, conceiving,
or understanding:
We want to think about God. God is a thought, God is an idea, but its
reference is to something that transcends all thinking. I mean, he’s beyond
being, beyond the category of being or nonbeing. Is he or is he not? Neither
is nor is not. Every God, every mythology, every religion, is true in this sense:
it is true as metaphorical of the human and cosmic mystery. He who thinks
he knows doesn’t know. He who knows that he doesn’t know, knows.
This view of literary mapping over literal doctrine is also a point of con-
tention into a debate that arose between Stephen Fry and Brand. Fry was
asked what he would say if he died and found himself in front of God at the
gates of heaven. He responded with a scathing attack on God:
Bone cancer in children, what’s all that about? How dare you. How dare you
create a world in which there is such misery that is not our fault. It’s not
right, it’s utterly, utterly evil. Why should I respect a capricious,
mean-minded, stupid God who creates a world that is so full of injustice and
pain?
Fry continues by referring to the Greek gods who he prefers because they
did not pretend to be faultless. And he continues to question why we
should spend our lives thanking a God that he describes as a “maniac”.
However, through an episode of the Trews, Brand responds to Fry by
challenging what he sees has the problem of literalism in Fry’s interpreta-
tion of Christianity. Brand insists that he does believe in God but not
through a literal interpretation of religious doctrine. Brand discusses how
science can explain certain mechanics of how life works but it does not
explain something beyond that, the unknowable, which religion has sought
to connect with through the metaphors of mythology:
Terrence McKenna, a kind of whacky shaman fella, said that the perspective
of contemporary science is “give us one free miracle and we will explain the
rest” – that free miracle being that the universe sprang into being with these
exact rules that are required for life and consciousness to exist. What [reli-
gions] are trying to do is make sense of our perspective as awake, conscious,
sensing beings within the infinite. For me, as a person who believes in God,
my understanding of God … is that my consciousness emanates from a
perspective and it passes through endless filters – the subjective filters of the
senses and of my own biography.
Behind the life experiences of this biography Brand argues that there is an
awakeness that is within in all of us. Brand sees this awakeness behind the
material world as an interconnectivity that we all share. He accepts that
none of us can know if there is a God, but he argues that there is an us.
Instead of sharing Fry’s view that we should abandon God if we want to
live free and purer lives, Brand argues we should embrace God to be free.
He does not suggest we do this by embracing dogma or doctrine but by
looking at the beautiful things in religion where stories try to speak to us
152 D. KELSEY
morally in ways that help us to negotiate our capacity to create a better

society.
Brand’s fundamental position is as follows: “It doesn’t matter where you
come from, whether it’s Freudian analysis or Darwinism or the analysis of
the cosmos. From the quantum to the cosmic there is an unknown force
behind things”. The tension between science and religion resonates
through the affective mythology of Brand’s ethos. There are instances
where he challenges and embraces science in the same way that he sees
both the exploitative and revolutionary potentials of religion. Theories of
consciousness and spirituality are central to Brand’s trickster qualities that
refuse to sit in one category of belief or familiar ideological commitment.
Instead, for Brand, to embrace the unknown is to embrace the wonder-
ment of life and consciousness that we cannot understand.
BRAND’S BLISS AND THE JOURNEY OF INDIVIDUATION

We can see how Campbell’s work resonates in Brand’s thoughts and points
throughout this chapter, especially regarding God. As Campbell (1988)
argued:
We have today to learn to get back into accord with the wisdom of nature
and realize again our brotherhood with the animals and with the water and
the sea. To say that the divinity informs the world and all things is con-
demned as pantheism. But pantheism is a misleading word. It suggests that a
personal God is supposed to inhabit the world, but that is not the idea at all.
The idea is trans-theological. It is of an undefinable, inconceivable mystery,
thought of as a power, that is the source and end and supporting ground of
all life and being.
It is therefore the truths of myth in its metaphorical form that expresses all
we can prior to that which is unknowable beyond our consciousness. In the
case of Brand, it is this wonderment that keeps the trickster alive through
endless possibilities for change and progress in his vision of collective in-
dividuation as he “follows his bliss”.
Individuation is only possible through the archetypal influence of
trickster qualities. As Ricki Tannen (2007) argues, individuation is a
doubling trickster process since it requires the individual to differentiate
themselves from the collective, before intra-physically establishing a closer
relationship with the self and the collective. Brand has attempted this and
in doing so pursues a third process: establishing collective individuation

through shared connected values of a new story, a new myth that estab-
lishes a new ideology. The trickster is needed to push those boundaries and
test out what alternatives are possible.
In the case of Brand, we have seen how and why tricksters are often
framed as foolish or naïve characters: they are not always right and they
don’t have all the answers but they are willing to push the limits of what is
deemed acceptable in order to force change. Brand’s acceptance of the fact
that he does not have all the answers is reflective of Campbell’s (1988)
point: “He who thinks he knows, doesn’t know. He who knows that he
doesn’t know, knows. For in this context, to know is not to know. And not
to know is to know”. As Brand states, “we are not trying to supplant a
perfect system… we are intervening in a gallingly unequal and corrupt
system on the brink of Armageddon”.
The complexities considered in this chapter are what make Brand’s
affective mythology so intriguing: on the one hand, he is judged for what
can be misunderstood as his expression of resentment (as a Jungian pro-
jection), hence the accusations of hypocrisy that he faces. But on the other
hand, a closer reading of Brand’s individuation acknowledges his own
complicit decisions in the system that he is part of and he reflects on the
character traits and flaws of his psychology (his shadow). This chapter has
collated examples of Brand discussing aspects of consciousness, mythology,
anthropology, psychology, biology, and ideology. Through Brand’s
rhetoric and activism, we see how these elements function across affective
and ideological contexts of the transpersonal. Even if one does not agree
with Brand’s politics, the affective qualities of his ideas arguments reflect
the powerful functions of mythology. Brand’s case is indicative of his
explicit, deliberate, and conscious effort to use myth for his own under-
standing of the world, to articulate his own ideological beliefs and to try
and convince others regarding the social and political value of his own
agenda. Functioning across a miscellanea of topical concerns, media spaces
and pubic discourses Brand’s case reflects the all-consuming nature of myth
from the human psyche to the physical structures of its societies and the
ideological systems we live by.
154 D. KELSEY
NOTES
1. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2859473/PIERS-MORGAN-
TV-tantrum-shows-revolutionary-Russell-Brand-really-just-revolting-
hypocrite.html.
2. “Established in 2011, Hacked Off campaigns for a free and accountable
press. …” http://hackinginquiry.org/guardian/about-hacked-off/.
3. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMke9749FoE.
4. Page 3 of The Sun newspaper is renowned for showing a glamour model
posing topless. In 2012 a No More Page 3 campaign was launched, arguing
it was demeaning and objectifying women. In January 2015, The Sun
dropped page 3.
5. Full Huffington Post interview here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=
S3PalrfEF4g.
6. “I imagine that neurologically the pathway travelled by a fearful or selfish
impulse is more expedient and well-travelled than the route of the altruistic
pang. In simple terms of circuitry, I suspect it is easier to connect these
selfish inclinations. This natural, neurological tendency has been over-
stimulated and acculturated. Materialism and individualism do in moder-
ation make sense. If you are naked and starving and someone gives you
soup and a blanket your happiness will increase. That doesn’t mean that if
you have 10,000 silken blankets and a golden cauldron of soup made from
white rhino cum your happiness will continue to proportionately increase
until you’re gouched out, swathed in silk, gurgling up pearlescent froth.
Biomechanically we are individuals, clearly. On the most obvious frequency
of our known sensorial reality we are independent anatomical units. So, we
must take care of ourselves. But with our individual survival ensured there is
little satisfaction to be gained by enthroning and enshrining ourselves as
individuals” (Brand, New Statesman 2013).
7. https://www.newstatesman.com/2013/10/russell-brand-robert-webb-
choosing-vote-most-british-kind-revolution-there.
8. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SW2TBJPuoAI.
9. “The way I identified with Wu-Wei was through football. You often hear
athletes talking about being ‘in the zone’—a state of un-self-conscious
concentration. In the World Cup, when England inevitably end up in a
quarter-final penalty shoot-out, I believe it is their inability to access
Wu-Wei that means the Germans win. … If you are in a stadium with
80,000 screaming supporters and the hopes of a nation resting on the
outcome of a penalty kick, you need to be focused, you need at that
moment to be in a state of mind which is the result of great preparation but
has total fluidity. Kind of like a self-induced trance where the body is free to
act upon its training with the encumbrance of a neurotic mind. Stood in
front of the keeper, the ball on the spot, you need to have access to all the
preparation that has gone into perfecting the kick that will place the ball in
the top right corner of the net. You cannot be thinking ‘Oh God, if I miss
this they’ll be burning effigies of me in Essex,’ ‘I think my wife is fucking
another member of the team’, ‘My dad never loved me, I don’t deserve to
score’—those mental codes are an obstacle to success. … Wu-Wei … is
usually accessed when in a state of relaxed concentration in pursuit of a
higher purpose. That doesn’t have to mean building an orphanage; I think
the focus required to succeed in a penalty shoot-out is … an applicable
example: when attuned to the objectives of the team and the supporters, an
objective that transcends the self, unencumbered by meddlesome individ-
ualistic concerns, you can achieve flow. When reflecting on the power that
can be accessed by getting beyond the self, in the moment, it becomes
apparent how prohibitive the concept of self is”.
10. Brand often refers to the work of Robert Lanza: Lanza argues that bio-
centrism can explain the creation of the universe since everything is a
product of our consciousness (2009). However, Lanza’s theory has also
been challenged on the notion that it blurs the distinction between
objective and subjective reality. In other words, it might be sound to argue
that our consciousness determines the subjective experience we have of
something that objectively exists. But our consciousness does not funda-
mentally construct the true existence of reality that science seeks to explain.
Either way, much like the nurture/nature debate I addressed earlier, when
we are thinking about how our minds make sense of the world, this
dichotomy is not prohibitive to the significance of mythology. Archetypes
and mythology are so fundamental to our subjective experiences in life that
even science relies upon archetypal qualities to conceptualize and theorize
through its own practices. Even if consciousness is approached with a view
to one day being fully explained by science, it is undoubtedly wondrous and
mysterious. This does not mean it is somehow supernatural or paranormal.
It is just beyond our current parameters of thought and knowledge.
11. “The purpose of Nirmukta is to promote science, freethought and secular
humanism in India and South Asia. Nirmukta is a Sanskrit word that means
“Freed”, “Liberated”. At Nirmukta, we are freed of dogma, orthodoxy,
and prejudice. We uphold and celebrate freedom of inquiry and expression,
guided by scientific temper and humanistic principles.” http://
nirmukta.com/about/.
12. Messiah complex (see also “Christ complex” or “savior complex”) is
a “complex psychological state when a person believes that he or she is a
savior today or he or she will be like that in the near future”. https://
flowpsychology.com/messiah-complex-psychology/.
156 D. KELSEY
13. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZCEVd1r-bU&list=
PLaaug5yF71ZoL14siBKksxCYX-YroRwuu.
14. https://www.theguardian.com/childrens-books-site/2014/nov/05/
russell-brand-why-i-wrote-the-pied-piper-of-hamelin.
15. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vr8xv2YSjZI.
16. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ju8q9_evhP4&index=24&list=PL5B
Y9veyhGt454WBBPXf1QWYS5IOwrB1B.
17. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xYgSj8t5TxY.
REFERENCES
Billig, M. (1995). Banal nationalism. London: Sage.
Brand, R. (2013). Russell Brand on revolution: “We no longer have the luxury of
tradition”. New Statesman.http://www.newstatesman.com/politics/2013/
10/russell-brand-on-revolution.
Brand, R. (2014). Pied piper of Hamelin. Edinburgh: Canongate.
Brand, R. (2015). Messiah complex. Branded Films: DVD.
Campbell, J. (1988). Joseph Campbell and the power of myth. http://billmoyers.
com/series/joseph-campbell-and-the-power-of-myth-1988/.
Jung, C. (1963). Memories, Dreams, Reflections. New York: Pantheon.
the ‘Blitz Spirit’ in British newspaper responses to the July 7th Bombings. London:
Palgrave Macmillan.
British, right-wing newspapers during the 2011 England riots. Capital & Class,
39(2), 243–264.
Lanza, R. (2009). Biocentrism: How life and consciousness are the keys to
understanding the true nature of the universe. Dallas: Benbella.
Symons, D. (1981). The Evolution of Human Sexuality. Oxford University Press.
Tannen, R. (2007). The Female Trickster: The Mask That Reveals. London:
Routledge.
Wadhawan, V., & Kamal, A. (2009). Biocentrism demystified: A response to
Deepak Chopra and Robert Lanza’s Notion of a Conscious Universe. http://
nirmukta.com/2009/12/14/biocentrism-demystified-a-response-to-deepak-
chopra-and-robert-lanzas-notion-of-a-conscious-universe/.
CHAPTER 7
Affective Mythologies: Where Do

We Go from Here?
This book has demonstrated the importance of analyzing discourse,

archetypes, and ideology in case studies of affective mythologies. As Harari
states, “I encourage all of us, whatever our beliefs, to question the basic
narratives of our world, to connect past developments with present con-
cerns, and not be afraid of controversial issues” (Harari 2014). This book
has done exactly that but I encourage readers and researchers to take this
further and continue through innovative analysis that seeks to understand
more about the “mysterious glue” that Harari described earlier. This glue
binds us together to create societies, institutions, nations and to tell stories
that help us to make sense of the world. Sometimes ideas are destructive
and divisive whilst others are inspiring and unifying. Whatever the case,
affective mythologies are central to our existence and consciousness.
In this closing chapter I reflect on the theoretical and analytical prin-
ciples of analyzing mythology from a psycho-discursive perspective. I will
then reflect on the journey we have been on through this book by con-
necting the observations of each case study to broader questions and ideas
that we can continue to pursue in future research. As Jung once said:
What will the future bring? From time, immemorial this question has
occupied men’s minds, though not always to the same degree. Historically, it
is chiefly in times of physical, political, economic, and spiritual distress that
men’s eyes turn with anxious hope to the future, and when anticipations,
utopias and apocalyptic visions apply. (Jung 2012:3)

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-60759-7_7
158 D. KELSEY
This perspective brings me to consider some of the historical lessons and

current concerns that reflect the significance of affective mythology in
contemporary politics and the darker traits of the human psyche that
continue to challenge our social ideals and moral values. I will then finish
with a metaphorical reflection through which I mythologize collective
ideologies and affective practices by proposing the concept of murmura-
tions, which can be taken forward beyond this book.
THE CRITICAL MYTHOLOGIST: THEORETICAL

AND ANALYTICAL PRINCIPLES
This book revisited conceptual approaches to mythology (Campbell 1949,

1988, 1990, 2008) by demonstrating their relevance to current affairs
through a critical approach to psycho-discursive analysis. In doing so it
synergized the work of Jung (1946, 1959, 1973) with notions of affect and
affective practice (Wetherell 2012) that were refined for my conceptual
framework. By integrating Jung’s work into an affective dimension of
DMA (Kelsey 2015a), I was able to oscillate between the representational
and ideological focus of critical discourse studies and other
non-representational mechanisms that operate psychologically through
mythology. From the neuropsychic dimensions of the collective uncon-
scious through to the social constructions of storytelling and collective
consciousness, the case studies have analyzed the affective qualities of
mythology across the transpersonal. Psychological, discursive, archetypal,
and ideological mechanisms were approached through the concept of af-
fective apparatus, which encompasses these aspects on individual and col-
lective levels of the psyche.
This book has not shied away from ideology or critical analysis since this
would be a mistake for any mythological analysis from a critical (or opti-
mistic) perspective. The neutral approach to ideology (Gramsci 1971;
Baines and Kelsey 2013; Kelsey 2015a) explained in Chap. 1 made this
clear from the outset. The analyst is as much part of the mythological world
in which we live and does not need to claim impartiality or objectivity.
Purist notions of impartiality or objectivity are not compatible with analyses
of mythology. We cannot escape or rise above mythology and we all carry
ideologically driven perceptions and cultural influences on our interpreta-
tions of events and our attempts to understand society.
7 AFFECTIVE MYTHOLOGIES: WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE? 159
Whilst my decision to synergize Jungian frameworks with those of

discourse studies might have seemed controversial from the outset, it has
served a legitimate purpose. I have sought to delve into the unconscious to
understand some of the affective mechanisms that operate beyond dis-
course in its semiotic form. These psychological mechanisms stir powerful
perceptions and provide us with some of the essential apparatus of meaning
making. Once they become culturally and ideologically entangled through
our engagement with politics we see how politics is inherently and fun-
damentally emotional prior to the moral, ethical and cultural interests that
ideological projects impose on society.
Some of Campbell’s critics provide interesting examples of ambiguities
in his writing and as a result have critically interpreted the ideological values
behind some of his work. For example, he has been criticized for what
some critics see as an overtly individualist ideology running through his
personal and subjective interpretations of myths. “Follow your bliss” was
one of Campbell’s most popular quotes. This quote amongst other points
Campbell made regarding the importance of living life for one’s own ful-
filment provoked accusations of selfishness and hard conservativism—
especially after his documentary The Power of Myth (1988) with Bill
Moyers. At the time, Campbell’s work was interpreted by some as his
ideological sympathy with Ronald Reagan and the economics of that time.
However, these accusations do not consider other interpretations of his
work that suggest a very different perception to that of individualism in that
of individuation. Campbell and Jung’s notions of the self should not be
read as selfish, or self-centered. Rather, they provide ways of understanding
the self in order to create a better society.
So, there are different ways in which Campbell has been read and
interpreted. For example, Campbell once said: “If you follow your bliss,
you will always have your bliss, money or not. If you follow money, you
may lose it, and you will have nothing” (1988). He also said: “I think the
person who takes a job in order to live—that is to say, for the money—has
turned himself into a slave” (1988). Whether one agrees with these
statements is not the point. But what is significant here are the multiple,
potential ideological interpretations of what Campbell means. For me, it is
not evidence of a strong conservative ideology or any form of materialist
individualism. In fact, it seems quite the opposite—perhaps for some it is
even a naïve and innocent idealism that overlooks the hard economic and
occupational realities people face. Either way, I have often read much of
160 D. KELSEY
Campbell’s work through the Jungian notion of individuation, rather than

individualism.
Interestingly, it is through the social connections and application of
archetypal theory and mythological analysis that ambiguities and ideologies
in Campbell’s work did arguably appear at times. In one case I can see why
Campbell stirred accusations of perceived conservativism when he gave an
example of the Mother archetype. In a conversation with Moyers,
Campbell explained how the institutions that we work for can welcome us
in and provide security in a job for life, which we respond to through our
infantile receptivity to the protective and nurturing (mothering) qualities
that we desire. Equally, if we lose that job we feel stranded and abandoned.
Campbell says this is particularly a problem in a welfare state where the less
we do for ourselves the more the Mother state will do for us; stirring other
infantile archetypal complexes that reduce our ability or inclination to be
less reliant on Mother (state).
My own ideological bias suggests to me that this is unfair or at least
mischievous on Campbell’s part, who many would agree with nonetheless.
One might argue that Campbell is using his own analytical vocabulary to
construct a case (metaphorically) that reflects his ideological perceptions.
There are many ways that one could mythologize the welfare state through
archetypally constructed metaphors. The function that Campbell describes
might be the case for some people—it may well be this affective quality that
sees countless examples of civilized democratic societies struggling to
maintain a welfare state or protect it from abuse. But there are many other
social and economic needs and reasons for social welfare. Recipients of
welfare identify with its support in different ways—for many there might be
an overwhelming, archetypal sense of shame attached to even a temporary
reliance on welfare. A shame complex might also resist a return to the
nurture of dependence on Mother through the desire for independence. In
any case we could make metaphorical connections with the mother-child
archetypes. These metaphors will carry ideological connotations and
implications in one form or another depending on the social environment
concerned.
Moyers introduced his opening conversation with Campbell by stating:
“Joseph Campbell was one of the most spiritual men I ever met, but he
didn’t have an ideology or a theology. Mythology was to him the song of
the universe, music so deeply embedded in our collective unconscious that
we dance to it, even when we can’t name the tune” (1988). From the
position I have taken in my research, this is impossible. Even through
Campbell’s approach to mythology that considers the collective and innate

mechanisms of unconsciousness, he was subjected to his own ideological
influence across the transpersonal and he was as much part of the collective
as anyone else when he mythologized current affairs in metaphorical forms.
The example he gave of the Mother and the welfare state demonstrates his
own oscillation between mythological persuasions of affective archetypes
and their contextual (ideological) application across the transpersonal. So,
it is undoubtedly the case that Campbell brought his own experiences to
his work and the interpretative tendencies that inevitably occurred through
much of his own research. In fact, some of the personal challenges and
experiences that Campbell overcame through endurance and strong will
power might explain some of the persona that saw him unfairly accused of
being overtly right-wing.1
Personal experience is significant to my own analysis. Take the Russell
Brand case as one example. My brother is a recovering heroin addict.
Through many dark years of pain and suffering Brand was a voice that my
family could relate to—he said many things that made sense and demon-
strated an empathy that is often absent in societal attitudes that are not
compassionate towards addiction. The recovery process that Brand often
talks about is not only reflective of significant Jungian qualities but it
reflects a similar process that my brother went through in his own recovery.
Brand’s campaigning on drugs and other forms of social justice often
speaks volumes for people who struggle to have their voices heard. Whilst
the Brand chapter was not an endorsement of everything he says politically,
I certainly bring a subjective bias to my reading of his work. This is due to
my personal knowledge and experiences, the empathy I hold for Brand and
the admiration I have for much of his work.
My point here is that the critical mythologist is not bound to the
parameters of impartiality. Mythology is so significant and powerful that
mythological analysis begins at a point of acceptance and endorsement of
its function in all human life—whatever the implications might be. The
concern is then focused on what happens with mythology and how it
functions in relation to ideology and the transpersonal. Hence, I am
comfortable in an acceptance that Campbell had his own ideological biases
—perhaps more so than he was willing or able to admit. This is not to
suggest he was an ideologue or that he took a monolithic ideological
stance: to reduce his work to one committed ideology or right-wing
agenda is as far from accurate as anyone who suggests Campbell was free
from ideology altogether. But to follow the position I take on ideology in
162 D. KELSEY
the DMA framework, there will always be ideological contexts and influ-
ences on any position we take or case that we make. This is not a problem,
so the neutral approach says, because it is what ideology does that matters.
Much like mythology it can have a positive or negative impact, which again
depends on one’s own ideological interests and interpretations. So, it was
not that Campbell always gave faultless examples or applied his own the-
oretical notions in a-political contexts. Rather it was his attention to
mechanistic qualities and principles of mythology—the prevalence and
recurring existence of particular archetypal patterns—that made his work so
significant and timely to this day.
These caveats only make Campbell’s work more fascinating. Campbell
made many of the Jungian archetypes applicable through more developed
examples of myths operating through the stories and rituals of society.
Many of his examples bring us back to the oscillation between innate
inheritance and cultural diffusion, which we should remind ourselves not to
overtly dichotomize. Jung’s concept of the collective unconscious and
transpersonal mythology consists of both entities. What is important is that
we understand how mythology works, why it matters in society and what
we can do to be more critically reflective about ourselves as individuals,
groups, and nations.
WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT MYTHOLOGY

Hynes and Doty (1993) argue that the historical study of mythology is
useful for the study of our current cultures and social contexts. Each case
study has reflected this in its own way. Despite the breadth of topics
covered throughout each chapter, there has been a connective theme
running through them: they reflect a sense of political and social dissatis-
faction in current states of public and political consciousness across the
political spectrum. All mythologies can carry different ideological values
with social implications. As discussed in Chaps. 1 and 2, it is what those
mythologies and ideologies do in society that matters—their archetypal
qualities see them affecting our emotions and opinions in different ways.
Through the analysis in Chap. 3 and broader debates around Brexit we
have seen how disillusionment with the establishment fuels resentment and
anger that played out on both sides of the referendum campaign. The
construction of Britain as a victim of EU control, which informed millions
of voters in the referendum, is an extremely powerful trait of national,
populist mythology. Gilroy’s concept of post-colonial melancholia (Gilroy
2004) resonates here. A failure to move beyond a British psyche that is so

entrenched in its colonial past has left large parts of its collective con-
sciousness in a melancholic state. British melancholia in this respect reflects
a form of the Jungian shadow: a lack of cultural confrontation with the past
and an absence of critical understanding on the imperial (and
post-colonial) acts and consequences of the British Empire. This restricts
our ability to collectively progress from the self-deserving psyche of a
post-colonial power and re-mythologize British national identity in a
modern or enlightened manner. Gilroy’s work is significant to debates
around Brexit because, as we have seen, we are unable to critically reflect
on the melancholia of our stagnant (post-colonial) national mythology that
recycles itself through such negative and divisive discourse. Through the
EU project we have failed to create an alternative national mythology that
positively recontextualizes the UK’s place in the world.
During and since the referendum we have also seen how elitism in the
UK establishment—its House of Lords and its monarchy for example—
remains relatively unchallenged. Meanwhile, some sections of the press,
politicians, and the public project those elitist qualities of our own system
on those supposedly “unelected elites” of the EU who are accused of
compromising UK national interests. A peculiar hypocrisy informs a victim
narrative that appeared throughout the referendum campaign. However,
this is not to deny that there are significant problems with the EU. This is
an institution that has faced increasing criticism since the financial crisis and
does have democratic deficits to its structural design. Its own inability or
willingness to reform was undoubtedly a contributing factor in Brexit and
could prove significant in other countries holding referendums on EU
membership.
But in the case of Brexit, seeing the EU as a block of land across the
water, controlling our island and suppressing our “bulldog breed” set the
scene for a hero to initiate his quest. The symbolic, dialogical connections
here were collectively salient in the psyche long before the referendum.
Farage was portrayed as the hero who must overcome the political estab-
lishment at home and abroad in order to bring back power (or control) to
his people many years before Cameron agreed to hold a referendum.
As we know, mythology is powerful not because it is factually accurate
or longitudinally consistent (Kelsey 2015a). Rather, moral stories hold an
emotive and immediate power that can ideologically override contradic-
tions and discursive inconsistencies (Kelsey 2015b). Beyond the examples
164 D. KELSEY
in Chap. 3 Farage persistently found himself up against accusations and

criticisms that could have fundamentally jeopardized his image and credi-
bility with the electorate. But he kept surviving. And the multiple affective
qualities to this mythological construction of Farage proved resilient.
Whilst my analysis of Farage focused mainly on the monomyth, there were
distinct trickster qualities to the mythological traits of Farage’s political
journey.
Chapter 4 explored the mythological trickster in further detail through
stories about City bankers during the financial crisis. Some discourses
suppressed discussions of systemic and ideological concerns about the
banking sector. Other discourses mobilized attention to some systemic
concerns and gave more critical attention to the dilemmas that democracies
and capitalism face in dealing with the banking sector. The suicide of
bankers did not feature the satirical or explicitly critical language of other
examples, but featured a darker sense of mystery and spectacle; contrasting
material wealth and domesticity with reckless, unpredictable, and
destructive behavior. The paradoxical traits of trickster mythology were
evident in stories about bankers and their practices have stimulated some
calls for change. But their villainous portrayal in most of these stories did
not explicitly challenge boundaries in the familiar ways that tricksters often
do. In my analysis, trickster mythology was used as much to make sense out
of the confusion around the financial crisis than any explicit attempts to
redefine systemic or moral values by the stories themselves.
So how much has changed since the banking crisis? Our global eco-
nomic model of banking has survived and trading goes about its business as
usual. Perhaps the criticisms that bankers faced in some cases were no more
than shadow projections in moral stories that gave certain institutions, like
the Mail Online, a scapegoat to blame for the failings of a system it broadly
supports. The efforts of Brand (2014a, b, c) and Mason (2015) among
others have not been explicitly endorsed or even mobilized significant
efforts to propose alternative models of banking and economics. As Justin
Lewis (2015) argues, we need to think more creatively if we are to move
beyond consumer capitalism in pursuit of significant economic and envi-
ronmental progress. In many respects, some of the social and economic
injustices of society are as prevalent now in relative terms as they were
100 years ago. Whilst social progress has occurred in many respects, which
we should not overlook, we still find ourselves grappling with moral failings
that are repeated over time through our collective ideologies. Some of the
failings stem from the divisive and destructive elements of the human
psyche that we need to understand through a greater appreciation of those

affective qualities and historical lessons that we are yet to learn from in
contemporary politics.
HISTORICAL LESSONS, CURRENT CONCERNS

Charles Dickens is commonly known for his work as a novelist but he
started out as a journalist. Covering parliamentary debates and events for
five years provided unique insights to the world of politics and gave him
invaluable accounts of the class system and institutional affairs at that time.
This undoubtedly benefited his future work, which I have discussed
throughout this book. Dickens provided significant social commentary in
Victorian Britain and tackled social and economic injustices. But the
qualities of his work were more than topical. As Chaps. 2 and 5 have
shown, they were deep and sophisticated accounts of psychologically dri-
ven characters and significant mythologies of the time.
The lessons learnt from Dickens in Victorian London have much to offer
now as they did then. These parallels run way beyond the case study of
Chap. 5—there are multiple connections with Dickensian commentary in
every case study. But what is most fascinating about Dickens’ work is the
way in which he constructed characters and stories around those psycho-
logical aspects of archetypal conventions. Wilkin’s work provided a detailed
account to show how these affective elements operate through Dickensian
storytelling. But Iannucci’s (2016) analysis of Dickens provides further
connections to contemporary politics:
The work of Charles Dickens is not just quality entertainment for a long dead
audience. Dickens’ world of the imagination is as complex and as dark and as
sophisticated as any modern city. And the characters he creates are as real and
as psychologically driven as the inhabitants of any urban landscape today.
For this reason, Iannucci sees the true Dickensian world as our world. For
Iannucci, the timeliness of Dickens’ commentary occurs not only through
his institutional depictions but in the current familiarity of the characters he
portrayed: “Today we may have the likes of Mr. Murdoch. But in Little
Dorrit Dickens gives us a Mr. Merdle.” Iannucci reads part of the following
extract from Little Dorrit: “Mr. Merdle was immensely rich; a man of
prodigious enterprise; a Midas without the ears, who turned all he touched
to gold. He was in everything good, from banking to building. He was in
166 D. KELSEY
Parliament, of course. He was in the City, necessarily. He was Chairman of

this, Trustee of that, President of the other.” As Iannucci points out, the
whole novel constructs a character in Merdle who moves through each
corner of the establishment—from politicians, to the media and then the
law. However, “he himself is a strange shadowy figure whose bank col-
lapses, whose money fritters away and who ends up killing himself in a
bath”. In a hinting and mischievous manner, Iannucci looks to the screen
and says:
It’s a saddening and frighteningly familiar depiction of the whole of British

society converging around one man who tries to control it and in the end
imploding. Now surely something as horrific as that, a hundred and fifty years
ago, couldn’t happen today. I mean, we know so much more now, don’t we?
Iannucci hints at a valid point. The lines between fiction and reality are
somewhat blurred when dealing with archetypes and the lived experiences
of mythology. Every case study in this book has approached very different
topics that carry significantly overlapping characteristics and political con-
nections. The power dynamics of the establishment see politicians, banks
and state institutions embroiled in controversies that were all evident in the
commentary that Dickens sought to provide: the corruptions and power
abuses amongst every social class, its political elites, and institutions all
symbolizing the shadow qualities that we struggle with today.
Even through the case of Russell Brand, we see the individuation pro-
cess of a person who has endured a similar journey to Dickensian charac-
ters. In Great Expectations, we see Pip leave home from humble
circumstances to live a life of wealth in the city as a gentleman. It takes
some harsh lessons around social class, personal relationships, and mone-
tary blunders for him to understand that material wealth and social status
are not of a great importance to him, nor are they a source of happiness.
What really matters to Pip by the end of the novel are people and moral
values. In Brand, we see something similar as he lived a life of fame, drugs
and excess only to realize that he needed to reconnect with people and
deeper, inner qualities—a spirituality that he sees as the collective source of
shared unity between us all. Through the Brand case study, we saw him
discuss the significance of Jung and Campbell in the philosophy of his
mythological spiritualism and discussions of consciousness.
CONSCIOUSNESS AND AFFECTIVE MYTHOLOGY

One concern I have about the Brand case study is that it could be misin-
terpreted as an endorsement of abstract supernaturalism. This is not the
case. In a podcast between Joe Rogan and Russell Brand they address this
point after Brand used the example of the double slit theory (see Lanza
2009) where particles appear to behave differently when they are
observed.2 Rogan rightly points out that this is due to acts of measurement
that influence the particles rather than some “woowoo crazy shit”. Brand
agrees and acknowledges that people often misinterpret transcendent
theories of consciousness as inferences to suggest that “our minds can
control shit”. But it is actually the significance of our consciousness in our
constructions of reality that matters here. This is not to suggest that
Lanza’s biocentrism arguments provided the answer to everything. But as
Brand points out, Lanza does stimulate significant questions about the
fundamental role of consciousness and its centrality to the realities we
construct and experience. We cannot think outside of the senses and the
psychological apparatus that is available to us through the parameters of
our consciousness. There might be other energies and dimensions oper-
ating beyond what our consciousness allows to measure or communicate
with. There is a mythological function to this wonderment. These seem-
ingly unknowable qualities pose something that interests Brand as it did
Jung and Campbell.
This relates to a point I made earlier in the book regarding critical
discourse studies, mythology, and social constructionism: adopting a
model like Jung’s and acknowledging positions around forms of evolu-
tionary psychology and consciousness does not have to compromise any
critical aspect to discourse studies. Neither does it provide some positivist
position that opposes constructionist epistemologies. Quite the opposite.
This position actually encourages us to go a step further in considering
how our constructionist thought processes and subjective-affective qual-
ities influence our perceptions of reality. When these psychological and
archetypal conventions become entangled with culture they are incredibly
powerful. In semiotics and critical discourse studies, we can analyze more
than representation, ideology, and communicative practice. We can go
further to understand some of the deeper affective qualities that make
certain stories and narratives more powerful than others. As my case
studies have shown, when archetypes and mythologies become culturally
entangled with ideology we can work towards a better understanding of
168 D. KELSEY
why certain stories are so persuasive in public discourse, regardless of our

personal opinions. This premise takes me to the closing discussion of the
book.
MURMURATIONS: COLLECTIVE IDEOLOGIES

AND THE TRANSPERSONAL
I am proposing murmurations as a metaphor to understand some of the

archetypal and transpersonal dynamics of affective mythologies across
collective groups and ideologies. The metaphor stems from a phenomenon
performed by thousands of birds (most commonly starlings) through
which they move in synchronized patterns to perform spectacular shapes
and routines as a flock in the air:
As they fly, the starlings in a murmuration seem to be connected together.

They twist and turn and change direction at a moment’s notice. …
Regardless of the size of the murmuration, all the birds seem to be connected
to the same network. This phenomenon puzzles scientists, because it goes
beyond what we know from biology about how animals behave. The mystery
of the murmuration is a fascinating example of a natural phenomenon that
hides secrets about the world that scientists have still yet to uncover!3
Like murmurations, ideologies are not monolithic or one-directional.

Ideologies evolve, shape-shift and adapt overtime and collectives move
with them through shared social practices and mutual understanding. In
some respects, this reflects our ability to cooperate through stories and
ideas, as Harari discussed earlier. Harari provides another useful example
here that discusses the orderly patterns we are able to create through our
cooperation and shared beliefs in ideas:
If you tried to bunch together thousands of chimpanzees into Tiananmen

Square, Wall Street, the Vatican or the headquarters of the United Nations,
the result would be pandemonium. By contrast, Sapiens regularly gather by
the thousands in such places. Together, they can create orderly patterns –
such as trade networks, mass celebrations and political institutions – that they
could never have created in isolation. (2014b:42)
Since we share the same archetypal conventions of the collective uncon-

scious, which operate in response to our personal and cultural experiences,
we are in some ways synchronized with other members of the same groups,
societies, nations, and even international communities. But as Anderson
(1983) and Harari (2014b) have pointed out, this means we are often part
of “imagined communities”. This means we can never know the millions of
strangers within a group that we imagine ourselves to be a part of based on
national, commercial, religious, or other ideological needs.
The shared experiences of collective consciousness mean that we often
share ideological perceptions and practices with other groups since we use
the same affective apparatus to construct and understand reality. We have
overlapping experiences within the discursive environments through which
we communicate and the archetypal practices that we engage with. As we
become familiar with particular discursive and mythological paradigms we
make common connections through dialogical mechanisms, social struc-
tures, and institutional cultures. From families to workplaces and nations
there are cultural practices, routines, and rituals that we become familiar
with. But we do not all respond in the same way. Multiple groups reflect
multiple murmurations that are all recurring patterns of behavior
nonetheless.
As discussed, we suppress elements that do not suit our group interests
and they become expelled to the depths of the shadow where we can
restrict particular characteristics from arising in unwelcome environments.
In doing so, this keeps us moving, responding, and reacting in a syn-
chronized manner that keeps us in tandem with the rest of the flock—or
multiple flocks across the course of the day, according to our personas of
family, work, or play. There are many murmurations that display their own
routines, patterns, and communication, but they all connect through ide-
ologies that are mobilized by the transpersonal, affective apparatus that is
bound by the archetypal salience of mythologies. Due to those ideological
factors that function through affective apparatus, murmurations operate in
synchronization as groups pursue their goals through an element of con-
sistency and shared response. There is always room for maneuver, com-
promise or shifts in whatever movement it might be but its collective
empathy and compliance makes it happen. This could be empowering,
unifying and progressive but it could also be divisive, destructive, and
regressive, depending on the agenda at stake.
As wondrous and awe-inspiring as murmurations might be, the metaphor
applies as much to the darkest traits of society as anything else. Taking the
far-right as an example from Chap. 5, there is a dialogical opportunism that is
stimulated by their ideological reaction to stories about Muslim “grooming
170 D. KELSEY
gangs”. On a symbiotic level these groups do not necessarily need to sit

down and plan a consistent reaction: their mythological synchronization
displays familiar and reactive patterns, like a ripple effect of animosity that
discursively and emotively capitalizes on its perceived opportunity. This
becomes a transnational murmuration as other sympathetic groups see this
outrage and replicate the response (Meleagrou-Hitchens 2013). Solidarity
spreads and the murmuration grows—collectively responding and reacting
to whatever directional course it must pursue. The perception of “grooming
gangs” on a “rape jihad” provided the far-right with its moral cause at that
time, which it communicatively adapted to. It responded through the
affective-discursive practices I analyzed in the archetypal and mythological
paradigm of its own ideology and propaganda.
Equally, when we look more broadly at the perpetrators involved in the
child abuse cases (within and beyond Chap. 5) there is a cynical and
institutional consistency to the sinister interests and empathy shared
between abusers. Abusers appear to understand the common practices and
deceptions of each other’s crimes. These patterns of behavior reappear
across multiple disconnected groups and institutions, diachronically and
synchronically, to repeat the same abuses of power through seemingly
obvious signs that are as evident now as they were to Dickens in Victorian
London. Murmurations in this respect reflect some of the darkest human
traits and corruptions of public institutions.
When we see right-wing populist movements growing within and
beyond Europe—often in response to financial instability and a growing
refugee crisis—many of us are shocked because of our own ideological
unease. A murmuration of fear, repulsion and reaction ripples through
those groups who express counter-currents of discursive solidarity and
criticism. Meanwhile the transnational movements of other groups are
synchronized through their shared ideological perceptions and practices.
Brexit in the UK can send multiple messages across the Atlantic to the US
as much as it can to its European neighbors. In response, we see recurring
discursive dynamics and patterns of political rhetoric in populist mythol-
ogy. Suddenly, populist rhetoric is the mainstream in the US, even more so
than the UK. A murmuration has grown, it makes sense to large collectives,
and they move with it accordingly as it continually builds on its own
mythology that shifts and flows fluidly to adapt and remain in sync with
current affairs.
In the case of ISIS, we see a transnational murmuration that cannot be
contained with military intervention despite the persistent efforts of
political leaders who resort to traditional warfare to wipe out an ideology.

The collective actions and aspirations of Islamic fundamentalism often
operates through affinity groups (Kelsey 2015a); non-hierarchical and
leaderless organizations who can recruit without any physical contact or
static geographical base. Just an idea, through its mythological function
and as part of a shared and commonly recognizable narrative, can stimulate
a ripple effect of recruitment for extremism. Powerful affective qualities of
archetypal complexes and mythological narratives can be communicated
online, reaching the previously unreachable through global murmurations.
Digital murmurations are particularly interesting through online com-
munication and provide scope for further research beyond this study.
Especially in a globalized world, murmurations operate in multiple, spo-
radic and fluid—albeit synchronized—forms, through the complex ideo-
logical nuances of global societies. They have the ability to circulate
cultural mythologies more widely and regularly than ever before. Social
media provides us with many dynamics that reflect shared and recurring
patterns of behavior that operate within particular ideological paradigms.
The echo chambers of our own Facebook and Twitter feeds show us that
through no direct instruction or co-operation we can be entirely consistent
with those social groups we are ideologically in sync with on particular
issues.
But murmurations are more than just the shared ideological interests of
particular groups. They are the shared and recurring archetypal patterns
that operate as the building blocks for transpersonal experience and col-
lective coherence. They are more than stories and messages, since they are
the mythological structures and influences of groups, societies, nations,
religions, cultures, and institutions that have been discussed throughout
this book. The point here is that there are often instances when a ground
swell of public opinion or behavior from a particular collective demon-
strates how a social group can be bound together—however big or small—
through distinctly similar affective practices and experiences.
Murmurations are as varied and endlessly shape shifting as archetypes,
mythologies, and ideologies themselves. Whilst they are stimulated by the
same universal mechanisms of affective apparatus, their patterns and
movements will be as sporadic and fluid as necessary in order to adapt to
their cultural needs and environments. This is all the more fascinating as
complex societies continue to bind particular groups through distinctly
recurring archetypal patterns and behaviors that respond to different social
and historical circumstances over time. What is important to remember is
172 D. KELSEY
that mythology will always continue to operate through its archetypal

forms and ideological functions. But what it says and does for groups and
individuals will depend on the recipients and participants of its message:
“The shoe that fits one person pinches another; there is no recipe for living
that suits all cases” (Jung 2001:62).
NOTES
1. After withdrawing from his graduate studies and unable to pursue his
Ph.D., Campbell spent 5 years during the Great Depression living in a
rented shack in New York: “So during the years of the Depression I had
arranged a schedule for myself. When you don’t have a job or anyone to
tell you what to do, you’ve got to fix one for yourself. I divided the day up
into four four-hour periods, of which I would be reading in three of the
4-hour periods, and free one of them” (1990:52–53).
2. Joe Rogan podcast with Russell Brand: https://www.youtube.com/
watch?v=xh6V8xigZc4.
3. http://wonderopolis.org/wonder/what-is-a-murmuration.
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INDEX
A Brand, R., 9, 21, 37–39, 45, 64, 82, 87,

Abrams, J., 10, 32, 35, 36, 38, 115 122, 125–133, 135–140, 142–144,
Affective apparatus, 3, 9, 16, 22, 28, 34, 147–154, 161, 166, 172
49, 83, 107, 132, 138, 158, 169, Brexit, 49, 76, 77, 143, 162, 163, 170
171 Britain First, 107, 112, 113, 123
Affective-discursive loops, 16, 20, 68, British National Party (BNP), 65, 110
84, 115
Affective practice, 10, 16, 17, 19, 27,
158, 171 C
Anthropology, 4, 10, 33, 153 Campbell, J., 1, 3, 5, 7–10, 16, 19, 21,
Apollo, 141, 142 22, 27, 30, 39–41, 54, 55, 57, 81,
Archetypes 89, 125, 131, 133–136, 139, 143,
children, 40, 45 147, 150, 152, 158–161, 167, 172
hero’s journey/monomyth, 49, 53, Capitalism, 20, 21, 44, 81, 83, 88, 129,
54 132, 134, 164
mother, 30, 146, 161 Celebrity, 22, 118–120, 134
scapegoat, 83 Child abuse, 2, 9, 20, 36, 107, 108,
shadow, 107, 108, 118, 120–122 111, 113, 120, 122, 170
trickster, 40, 77, 102 Christian, 35, 58, 87, 112, 115, 120,
149
Collective unconscious, 19, 27, 29, 30,
B 32, 34, 38, 40, 46, 49, 122, 128,
Bankers, 9, 20, 21, 43, 44, 62, 81, 82, 131, 132, 158, 160, 162, 168
84–88, 90, 91, 93, 96, 97, 99, 102, Communism, 131, 132
143, 164 Complex (archetypal), 3, 20, 31, 32,
Banking crisis, 2, 44, 81, 164 45, 49, 99, 107, 138, 155, 160, 171
Barthes, R., 11, 13 Consciousness, 1, 9, 18, 21, 27, 29, 32,
BBC, 37, 69, 82, 116–120, 122 34, 36, 39, 40, 49, 50, 55, 103, 117,
Biology, 33, 153, 168 121, 125, 131, 132, 135, 136, 138,
Bottici, C., 11, 14
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2017 177

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-60759-7
178 INDEX
139, 142, 148–150, 152, 153, 155, God, 2, 6, 39, 47, 48, 69, 87, 99, 133,
157–159, 161, 162, 166, 169 138, 142, 148, 150, 151, 154
Conservative, 53, 63, 64, 68–70, 73, Gramsci, A., 11, 158, 172
86, 91, 97, 130, 159 Greek (mythology), 8, 151
Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA), 10,
13–15
Critical discourse studies, 4, 9, 31, 158, H
167 Hadron Collider, 7
Cultural geographers, 18 Harari, Y., 1, 32, 157, 168, 169
Hyde, L., 43, 81
Hynes, W., 40, 81, 162
D
Dickens, C., 37, 46–48, 103, 119, 120,
165, 166, 170 I
Dijk, van, T., 12, 13, 15, 57, 85 Iannucci, A., 47, 165, 166
Dionysus, 140–142 Ideology (neutral approach in DMA),
Discourse-mythological approach 11, 128, 158, 162
(DMA), 4, 9, 10, 14, 15, 19, 28, 39, Individualism, 47, 58, 102, 130, 135,
49, 158, 162 149, 154, 159
Doty, W., 30, 40, 81, 162 Individuation, 9, 21, 37–39, 49, 117,
122, 126, 128, 129, 132, 134, 135,
139, 141, 144, 152, 153, 159, 166
E Interdiscursive, 57, 59, 61, 94, 95, 109,
Ego, 35, 36, 38, 46, 99, 128 111, 148
English Defence League (EDL), 111 Intertextual, 6, 13, 57, 61, 62, 110, 111
Islam, 2, 21, 111, 115, 120, 135, 149,
171
F
Fairclough, N., 13, 15
Farage, N., 9, 19, 21, 41, 42, 45, 49, J
54, 56, 57, 59, 61–63, 65, 67–71, Journalism, 4, 9, 11, 50, 100
73, 74, 76, 78, 143, 164 Jung, C., 1, 4, 5, 10, 15, 17, 19, 21, 22,
Far-right, 109, 110, 112, 113, 122 27, 28, 30, 32, 33, 35, 36, 38, 39,
Financial crisis, 20, 81–84, 87, 97, 102, 42, 45, 47, 49, 50, 109, 117, 125,
163 129, 136, 139, 147, 157, 159, 162,
Flood, C., 11, 12, 14 166, 167, 172
Freud, 17, 28, 33
K
G Kelsey, D., 4, 12, 15, 17, 20, 50, 63,
Gilroy, P., 112, 162, 163 102, 158, 163, 171
INDEX 179
L Physics, 7, 29, 149

Liberal(ism), 61, 62, 65, 112 Populism, 19, 32, 54, 94
Lule, J., 11, 40, 41, 43, 57, 81, 82 Post-colonialism, 77, 163
Prince Charles, 119, 145
Princess Diana, 146
M Projection (shadow), 21, 35, 37, 38,
Maslow, A., 38, 50 49, 107, 120, 122, 130, 164
Melancholic community, 162 Psycho-discursive, 3, 4, 17, 19, 23, 27,
Messiah Complex, 132, 138–140, 147, 29, 32, 33, 49, 99, 157, 158
155 Psychology, 3, 4, 10, 17, 22, 28, 29,
Middleton, Kate, 145 33, 97, 153, 155, 167
Monarchy, 118, 144–148, 163
Multimedia, 3, 20
Multimodal, 17, 148 Q
Murmurations, 22, 158, 168, 169, 171 Queen, 119, 120, 145
Mythology (Campbell’s four functions)
cosmological, 6, 7, 9
metaphysical, 6, 7, 142 R
pedagogical, 8, 9 Racism, 13, 35, 73, 87, 110, 114, 115,
sociological, 7, 9 122
Radin, P., 43, 81, 95, 102
Religion, 5, 8, 21, 38, 39, 87, 113, 114,
N 116, 120, 126, 130–134, 136, 148,
Narcissism, 129, 139 150, 151, 171
National identity, 20, 67, 110, 112, Representation, 1, 4, 18, 19, 27, 34, 49,
145, 148, 163 55–58, 83, 88, 137, 142, 147, 167
Neo-liberal(ism), 62 Revolution, 21, 122, 126, 128, 131,
Neurological, 4, 23, 32, 130, 154 133, 140, 141, 150
Neuropsychic, 28, 30, 34, 36, 158 Rituals, 6, 21, 134, 136, 144, 162, 169
Non-representational, 18, 19, 27, 34, Rotherham Council, 20, 107, 109, 112
158 Royalty, 21, 119, 120
O S
Operation Yewtree, 116 Savile, J., 20, 42, 45, 48, 107, 108,
115–120, 122
Science, 7, 8, 17, 18, 29, 30, 32, 33, 38,
P 133, 137, 138, 148, 150, 151, 155
Paradoxical persuasion, 63, 102, 128 Self, The, 30, 36, 38, 54, 99, 125, 136,
Parliament, 54, 66, 71–73, 76, 166 152, 155, 159, 163
Persona, 42, 56, 72, 76, 108, 117, 120, Semiotic, 3, 10, 16–19, 30, 49, 145,
139, 140, 161 148, 159, 167
180 INDEX
Socialism, 93, 129, 131, 136 Universal, 4, 29, 30, 38, 39, 46, 171
Spiritual, 21, 37, 39, 41, 45, 58, 87,
122, 126, 128, 129, 131, 134, 136,
138, 139, 142, 157, 160 V
Stevens, A., 10, 29, 30, 32, 33, 38, 39 Victorian (London), 21, 46, 48, 119,
165, 170
T
Thatcher(ism), 57, 61–63, 92, 93, 118 W
Transpersonal, 4, 8, 9, 15, 16, 18, 20, War on Terror, 2, 111, 122
21, 27, 34, 46, 49, 54, 74, 76, 81, Wetherell, M., 9, 16, 17, 19, 22, 27,
83, 101, 108, 121, 122, 128, 132, 50, 68, 158
135, 138, 145, 153, 158, 161, 162, Wodak, R., 13, 15, 93
168, 169, 171 Wright, S., 109, 110, 114
U Z
UKIP, 53–56, 58–60, 63–65, 68, 70, Zeus, 141
71, 73–76, 94 Zweig, C., 10, 32, 35, 36, 38, 115

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Media and Affective

ISBN 978-3-319-60758-0 ISBN 978-3-319-60759-7 (eBook)

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careers, industries, and positions that will make a signiﬁcant contribution to

empathy, patience, loyalty, and generosity are qualities that I admire.

1 Why Study Mythology and How is it Affective? 1

2 Affective Apparatus: Collective Unconscious,

3 Hero’s Journey: Nigel Farage, the EU and Brexit 53

4 The City Trickster: Bankers, Moral Tales, and

5 Children, Shadows, and Scapegoats: The Child Abuse

6 Spiritual Revolution: The Affective Mythology

7 Affective Mythologies: Where Do We Go from Here? 157

Fig. 1.1 DMA diagram 15

Why Study Mythology and How is it

© The Author(s) 2017 1

This “mysterious glue” is something we experience every day without

Donald Trump who appeared to offer little more than hate as a

Mythology is both projective and injective. The formations and articula-

(universal) archetypal and psychological resources that we use to feel, to

society and mythology are so deeply entwined with psychological struc-

CAMPBELL’S FOUR MYTHOLOGICAL FUNCTIONS

Mythology is not a lie, mythology is poetry, it is metaphorical. It has been

Campbell was a comparative mythologist and anthropologist who spent

For many of us now, the modern cosmological function of myth operates

Pedagogical myths help to shape individuals to the aims and ideals of a

The overlapping nature of these four functions provides a mythological

THE DISCOURSE-MYTHOLOGICAL APPROACH

Mythology, Discourse, and Ideology

mechanisms of mythology to provide DMA with the most comprehensive

The ideological battleground (Gramsci 1971) that I examined through the

We propose that ideology should not be used solely in accusation or criticism

It is this neutral (albeit critical) approach to ideology that enables com-

ideology function through the discourses we produce and consume’

After all, in a ﬁnite discourse the selection of information necessarily entails

Attempts to understand the ideological role of myth often serve similar

However, despite the clear similarities between myth and discourse,

The choices among possible alternatives in the selection of information, the

Fig. 1.1 DMA diagram

products of ideologies and mythologies. At this stage, it does not account

INTRODUCING AFFECTIVE PRACTICE

communicate broader conceptual information, personal feelings, and social

Pedwell 2014; Thrift 2008; Anderson 2009; Ahmed 2004; Dewsbury

OVERVIEW OF CASE STUDIES

referendum in which the UK voted to leave the European Union (EU).

discursive comparisons between historical parallels that reﬂect signiﬁcant

familiar. The reason he provides a fascinating case is because he is a pop-

Affective Apparatus: Collective

When I initially developed DMA, it was never proposed as a complete

© The Author(s) 2017 27

I propose affective apparatus as the most substantive term for encom-

CARL JUNG AND THE COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS

be adopted in both psychological and anthropological disciplines. For

My thesis then, is as follows: in addition to our immediate consciousness,

Before going any further, it is important to confront some common mis-

Jung conceived archetypes to be “innate neuropsychic centers processing

Jung argued that these shared archetypal stimuli of the unconscious

Fig. 2.1 Jung’s model of the psyche

signiﬁcant since they form those archetypes, complexes and projections

anthropology is impressive considering the time when he was developing