Revenge has to be one of the most satisfying actions known to man. Nothing feels better than knowing that what has been done wrong against us has been compensated for. This closure holds a finicky place in our social constructs: if you don't do enough you are simply taking a cheap shot and being petty, if you do too much you are a sore loser or trying too hard. That also begs the question, is it possible to find the perfect amount of revenge, or is any act of revenge frowned upon? The opportunity for revenge provided by the Salem Witch Trials was far from that which is underdone and petty. The murder of "very likely" (you never know) innocent women on the basis of scandalous evidence was revenge taken to the extreme. When "one [can] cry witch against one's neighbor and feel perfectly justified in the bargain" (Miller), then either not enough value is being placed on the life of these women or people need to get over their inconsequential grudges and move on with their lives, not take others. Someone needs to tell that to Yzma from the Emperor's New Groove. Yzma's idea of fair revenge takes the all too familiar form: murder. Albeit she has the excuse of being a scripted character, her actions are simply not warranted by her deserved firing for not doing her job as Kuzco's assistant. But how are we supposed to find the perfect amount of revenge when there are so many different world views on what is acceptable? Although you may not guess it from The Crucible, Puritan's saw the correct path of revenge as turning the other cheek and not doing anything, while other cultures such as the Mesopotamians saw it for fit to take an eye for an eye. If there is not one definite point of acceptable revenge, then it is impossible to achieve it. Therefore, no revenge will ever be accepted by everyone, and those willing to avenge their losses are held to no standard. This lack of a standard is what allows the Salem Witch Trials and Yzma's plan to occur without much second thought to the perpetrator's actions.
Man's relationship with the divine is one that transcends generations; we learn our faith and morals from those who raised us. The connection between religion and our own origin stories of ourselves is prominently spread in today's culture. Sherman Alexie's response to being a Native American forced to conform to white society is a mantra of "Yes I am. I am Indian. Indian, I am". He refuses to give up his past, his customs, and his own personal identity just because it is expected of him. He takes a stand for who he is and what he believes in. Personally, I find such feats hard to accomplish. Simba in The Lion King would find my philosophy to be true: it is much easier to just rebuke our origin stories and shape ourselves to society than stand up for who we are. He loses his father to the wildebeest herd early in his life and is forced to grow up without a paternal figure to shape his identity. He is essentially self-exiled to pseudo-paradise with Timon and Pumba; however, back with the pride, evil and chaos are allowed to ensue. The return of Simba, emboldened with his destiny to be King, is the only hope for survival. Rafiki with the aid of Mufasa, Simba's father, reminds him to remember who he is. His sense of personal identity kicks in and he returns to restore the circle of life and ensure the well-being of the pride. It is the sense of ownership and dedication displayed by Simba to the Kings who have gone before him that causes him to stand up for what he believes in. Our own origin stories cannot be forgotten. While they are often less debated than those spoken of in folklore or religion, they serve just as important of a purpose. They give us a sense of identity and entitlement that allows us to be the people we are today.
