Kronk’s Choice

There’s a scene in The Emperor’s New Groove where Yzma’s henchman, Kronk, is ordered to kill the emperor Kuzco. But right before he’s about to execute the emperor, Kronk has a change of heart and spares him.

This sort of scene is common in mythology; the Huntsman spares Snow White, the shepherd spares baby Oedipus, and the herdsman, Agelaus, spares Priam’s son Paris, raising him as his own, etc. This scene is often accompanied by a false proof of execution, usually in the form of an animal’s organ (e.g. a boar’s liver for Snow White, and a dog’s tongue for Paris).

The recurrence of this scene, across cultures and throughout time, speaks to its significance. Everyone understands the disobedience of the executioner, but today it may be difficult to imagine just how significant this sort of insubordination is. Loyalty to one’s lord was the bedrock of pre-modern morality, which meant complete obedience was expected. As Jane Chance writes of the heroic tradition, it is because he is so compelled to obey his lord (despite his conscience) that the hero is so often conflicted (and thus tragic):

The lord often commands his men [to kill and] to die for him, not out of a zeal to protect the tribe, but out of pride, to boost his own name. The subordinate, acting out of love and loyalty, obeys his lord but tragically so when such obedience results in unnecessary death.

Today, this sort of ethos exists only in the military, where insubordination remains a punishable offense, and perhaps more importantly, taboo.

Part of me resists the moralistic interpretation of myth, but in the case of the insubordinate executioner there is at least the notion that there are multiple moralities (some of which are mutually exclusive) and that it is up to us to determine which one is greater (like that lovable fool Kronk did).