In Literature and Language we are told that literary characterization comes about in three ways: "The reader learns about a character through his words and actions ,... and through what other characters say about him...(p.44)" In most cases, there is a correlation between the amount of data available and the liveliness manifested in each character; in other words, the more information we get about a character, the better we know him or her. You only have to look at any of the most famous characters in canonical literature to understand the meaning: Shakespeare's Hamlet, for example, probably the most vivid of all the characters. How do we know Hamlet so well? Because its creator endowed it with ample action (the play amounts to 3,880 lines in all), ample verbiage (the vast majority of the 3,880 lines are spoken by Hamlet himself), and ample description (most of the lines not spoken by Hamlet they talked about him). So, drawing conclusions about Hamlet, the character, becomes as easy as catching fish in an aquarium: just take a net and collect. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an Original Essay How, then, can a reader reconcile a literary work when the characterization is sorely lacking in scope and quantity? When a character does little, says even less, and is held in such awe by his peers that they hardly speak of him at all, it is difficult to draw conclusions, and the reader who does so hastily may well draw a conclusion that is wrong. wrong. To walk away from such a work without drawing any conclusions, however, means either that the author has failed in the task of characterization, or that we have failed in our attempts to understand it. In any case, reading the work is rendered useless. This is the precarious dilemma we face when we read Chaim Potok's novel The Chosen. Although not the main character of Potok's work, Reb Saunders is the driving force of the novel: the main conflicts of the novel depend on the fear that the main characters have for him, and it is he who forces the climax; but as a character, Reb Saunders remains a bit shrouded. Simply enjoying Potok's story doesn't require an examination of Danny's mysterious father, but if there's any intellectual growth to be gained from the experience, it will surely come through a thorough understanding of the towering tzaddik. Reb Saunders is many things, but for most of the novel, his defining characteristic is that he is silent. And for this reason - because Potok virtually deprives us of one of only three means by which we might come to "know" Reb Saunders - we know him only through the perception of the other characters in the novel. However, if we interpret their observations about him ("...his crazy silences and outbursts [p.244]") literally, our opinions of Reb Saunders will probably not be favorable. But it seems unlikely that the author's intention is to make the reader hate the spiritual center of his novel. Like Reb Saunders with Danny, like David Malter with his son Rueven, Chaim Potok trusts his reader - he hopes that his reader, like Danny, can "listen to the silence and learn from it. (p.249)" But in Nel case where we, like Reuven, are reluctant to do so, Potok allows Reb Saunders to break his mysterious silence in the final pages of the novel. The result is twofold: first, the novel is given a sweetly satisfying conclusion; but more importantly, the reader now has the power to draw a valid conclusion about Reb Saunders, the character. ANDironically, that conclusion must be favorable. In our quest to learn about Reb Saunders, we are lucky in at least one respect: Potok provides us with a vivid physical description of the tzaddik: he was a tall man...his face...seemed to be carved from stone, his nose sharp and pointed, the creased cheekbones, the full lips, the forehead like marble engraved with lines, the deep eye sockets, the eyebrows thick with black hair... they have dark eyes, with dots of white light that play in them as they do with black stones in the sun ... (p.120) We also hear Reb Saunders' booming voice when he speaks to his congregation and observe him as he tests his son (and Reuven) during the argument of the Talmud. But beyond that, we have very little to work with. For much of the novel, the information we gather about Reb Saunders is, essentially, gossip; we become dependent on the impressions of Reuven and his father. Unfortunately for Reb Saunders, however, these impressions are not favorable; and whatever negative ideas we have already developed of the rabbi as a strong leader and an intelligent man, but nevertheless a distant or even cruel father, are confirmed and reinforced by the Malters. While Reuven's father vaguely acknowledges that he cannot judge what he does, We do not fully understand and does not know what it means to raise a tzaddik, his condemnation of Reb Saunders' methods is considerably less vague and we clearly hear his criticisms. “There are other ways than Reb Saunders,” David Malter tells his son (p.140), and although he constantly feigns tolerance, he spares no opportunity to make his opinion on Hasidism known. "I don't care much about his Hasidism," David tells Reuven, "...It's a shame (Reb Saunders) occupies his mind only with the Talmud. If he were not a tzaddik he could make a great contribution to the world" (p .141). Indeed, David Malter even undermines some aspects of Reb Saunders that we might find admirable, were it not for Malter's intrusive opinion. One might admire Reb Saunders' capacity for suffering, his willingness to symbolically shoulder the painful burden of his family, his flock, and the six million Jews recently massacred in Nazi Europe. But through his son, Reuven's father discourages such sympathy from the reader: "Chassidim!" murmurs Malter. “Why must they feel that the weight of the world rests only on their shoulders?” (p. 252), a statement he ironically makes even as he also suffers in a secular way for his people, fighting for the founding of Israel. Despite Reb Saunders's even bleaker assessment, Reuven, the strongest link between the reader and the text, shares his father's views on Reb Saunders and feels an even more passionate hatred for Danny's father as the Zionism debate tears apart. painfully splitting the Jewish community in two. "He's... a fanatic!" (p. 219) Reuven shouts. And of Reb Saunders' code of silence, Reuven says, "I hated the silence... and I thought it was unimaginable that Danny and his father never really spoke. The silence was ugly, it was black, it was malignant, it was cancerous, it was The I hated death, and I hated Reb Saunders for imposing it on me and his son" (p. 220-221). We see the richness that open communication with his father adds to Reuven's life, and by contrast, we feel the misery created by the lack of contact in Danny's life. Our verdict is simple and justifiable: Danny is tortured and it's Reb Saunders' fault. His methods are wrong. He's a bad father. But is this verdict justifiable? Certainly not until we have examined the available data relating to Reb Saunders' son. Brevity can lead us to neglect this investigation, in favor of the simplest path: dismissing Danny because he is incapable of evaluating his father more thanas much as we are; after all, he is faced with the same "silence" as the reader. But an examination of Danny's opinion of his own father is vital and provides the data necessary to question our premature "guilty" verdict. We must remember that Danny can perceive what we cannot perceive. He can't quite explain it, but he tells his friend, "You can listen to the silence, Reuven... you can listen to the silence and learn from it. It has a quality and a dimension all its own. It speaks to me." sometimes I feel alive in it. Speaks. We see that Danny is not entirely deprived of his father's voice: his father speaks to both of them through Reuven and with silence. Danny is the one who is suffering, not us, and Danny is the one who is in the position to judge, not us. Yet, as we condemn Reb Saunders, Danny trusts him: Do you want to know how I feel about my father? I admire it. I don't know what he's trying to do to me with this strange silence he's established between us, but I admire it. I think he's a great man. I respect and trust him completely, which is why I think I can live with his silence. I don't know why I trust him, but I do...(p. 191)If Danny doesn't condemn his father, how can we? Especially because exploring the text with hindsight shows that Danny's confidence is not unfounded. The easiest way to justify Danny's trust in his father is to look at the results: Danny is a wonderful human being; he is brilliant, ambitious, thoughtful, sensitive, thoughtful and compassionate. But beyond our vision of the finished product that Danny Saunders will become, we also see that, despite the silence, there is a defined and recognizable relationship between Danny and his father. Danny delights in some aspects of his education. He basks in the loving attention he receives from his father's flock, deeply appreciates and respects his father's intellectual abilities, and positively revels in Talmudic controversies, both public and private, rarely engaging his father in battle without a broad, cartoonish smile spread throughout the body. his face. But Danny is not solely responsible for "extracting" these pleasures. We are forced to recognize Reb Saunders, and we cannot ignore the "little things" he does well, such as his joy in losing Talmudic controversies to his son, his face "shining with fierce pride and his nodding head." . wildly" (p. 156). Nor can we ignore the deep faith he shows in his son by allowing him contact with Reuven and David Malter in the first place, only asking Reuven: "Reuven, you and your father will be a good influence on my son, right?" (p.159) However, despite taking into account Danny's point of view, despite the obvious good bonds between him and his father, despite knowing that Reb Saunders must raise his son and at the same time serve as a virtual messiah for his congregation, we resist by absolving his apparent negligence. We realize that Reb Saunders must have the answers: he must have the answers for the Talmud, the answers for the Torah, the answers for his congregation, for his people, for the horrible past, for the uncertain future. We understand his burden, but it is not enough; we want you to answer for your son. And in the end he does. When Reuven finally listens, so do we, and when Reb Saunders finally breaks the silence with his son, guilt becomes irrelevant. His words are full of wisdom, compassion, humility and love. Reb Saunders' motivations, his fears, his intentions - everything that had been shrouded in his entire life - come to the surface. We see that his struggle to instill a soul in his son, his struggle to enjoy the blessings and bear the "curse" of Danny's intellect, his attempt to raise a tzaddik while”..