ON-LINE ISSUES

V.6 N.1, November 2000

Authorial Recognition

by Sayyed Mohsen Fatemi
smfatemi@hotmail.com

Department of Language and Literacy Education
University of British Columbia

Every piece of writing, regardless of form and content, entails the urgent and vital urge of the author to be recognised by the potential reader. This paper offers a new horizon in understanding the issues of identity and writing. Presenting the logical, linguistic, and psychological models, the paper supports the argument that 'authorial recognition' is the centrepiece in the act of writing. Writing, itself, either calls for an affirmation or a negation of what the author wants to be recognised. In other words, the author calls for the recognition of his/her writing by the potential reader. This recognition, eventually, leads to the recognition of the author. Although this affirmative or negative overtone may sometimes not be found in the atomic analysis of the writing, the writing will eventually be translated into an affirmative or negative proposition. The element of being personal is inseparably linked to any kind of writing which delineates the author's urge for being recognised. The paper juxtaposes the arguments and counterarguments to corroborate the concept of authorial recognition. Focusing on dialogism as one illuminating factor, the paper offers an analysis regarding the concept of dialogism and its relation to authorial recognition. Expanding on the 'potential reader', the paper also deals with the pedagogical implications of 'authorial recognition' and the crucial element of understanding the concept particularly in the pedagogical and educational field.

A Pedagogical Problem

You may remember having said "Hello" to someone and having received nothing as a response or having received a cold shoulder. The feeling of being discounted, being rejected, and being ignored or not being recognised is certainly not a positive feeling. Now, you may better imagine the feeling of a nine-year old school boy who wrote a composition entitled "My Father" in which he explained his feelings about the death of his father and received the following answer from his teacher: "Tenses, you keep mixing past and present" (Blackis, 1965).

This real story is not the first nor the only one in the real world of education. There are multitudes of examples indicating the lack of recognition and lack of understanding in the mutual communication of our lives. History is fraught with bitter memoirs of students who have not received any positive recognition from so-called teachers who are supposed to teach how to recognise facts and realities. Contemporary Canadian poet, Carl Leggo (1999), calls himself 'a wounded writer,' and recounts the story of his grade eleven English teacher in the following way:

One day she passed me back a writing assignment and said, "Carl, you will never be a writer." Then she added, "But you don't want to be a writer anyway." I respected that elderly woman with frosty hair like cotton candy. I would not tell her that all my life I had harboured only two ambitions. I either wanted to be an astronomer or a writer.

Preamble

This paper attempts to discuss the issue of identity and language, particularly in relation to writing. The question of identity can be examined from various points of view including psychological and philosophical ones. It is always crucial to know who is this "I" who writes and how this "I-ness" is crystallised in the form of writing. Is this I-ness made, established, and built or is it given, determined, and imposed? Should we search for the I-ness in the individuality of individual or should we trace the root of the I-ness in the social aspect of the "I"?

Since Aristotle, many theories have tried to focus on some of the foregoing questions and have presented some answers. Some authors (e.g., Turner, 1991; Gergen; 1991; Burkitt, 1991) have claimed that social construction is the first and the last word, and that identity is nothing but the construction of social elements. Therefore, they argue, identity is not the product of individuals' minds and intentions, but it is socially constructed and is the result of affiliation to particular beliefs and possibilities.

This interpretation of identity has been challenged and can be challenged further mainly because of what Michel Foucault calls the decentering of "I." In other words, the concepts of agency, accountability, and choice or option are seriously undermined in this viewpoint. The roads to self-actualisation are blocked and there remains no optimistic chance for the intervention of "I" for making the I-ness in a responsible way. This paper does not totally turn down the importance of social factors in shaping identity. However, the social constructionist view of identity ignores what Goffman (1959) calls 'the performer.'

Others such as Ivanic (1997) have discussed different aspects of identity, particularly for writers. Ivanic's claim is that "writing is an act of identity in which people align themselves with socio-culturally shaped possibilities for self-hood, playing their part in reproducing or challenging dominant practices and discourses, and the values, beliefs, and interests which they embody " (Ivanic, 1997, p. 32).

Although self-concept is closely related to the issue of identity, it is fundamentally different from identity. Self-concept is one's description of who one is. Identity is one's definition of who one is (Baumeister, 1986); it consists of those things that most basically define who we are. Identity is defined by various aspects of our life, and it helps us locate ourselves in terms of who we are and where we belong (Lewis, 1990).

A very significant constituent of identity is the sense of continuity in one's life. Narrative approaches to personality assume that people's lives are bound together by the stories they tell about themselves (Feshbach et al., 1996). McAdams (1989) presented a narrative approach to identity, which assumes that identity is a life story. From a practical point of view, Harvey, Orbuch, and Weber (1993) provide an example on how people can utilise narrative accounts to deal with a life problem. Their study included hundreds of individuals dealing with traumatic experiences such as armed combat, an airline crash, and the loss of a loved one or incest. They argue that it is in developing an account of the incident that the victim learns how to cope with the event and to restore a sense of meaning to life (Feshbach et al., 1996).

This paper offers a new outlook in relation to identity and writing while commending the merit and painstaking endeavours of the researchers who have restlessly mobilised their focus on scrutinising the issue of identity, particularly its relation to writing. The implications of this new approach signal promising news for all of those who pursue the objectives of learning and teaching in the broadest sense of the word.

A New Look at Identity and Writing the Urge Towards Recognition

Writing is the expression of identity though it is not the only way. People write for and because of various reasons, in various situations, and in various moods. What people write about can be anything from the least important thing in the world to the most superordinate categories of existence. The claim, here, is that, first of all, when people write, they expose their identity in numerous forms, consciously or unconsciously. Second, all writings, particularly poetic and personal writings, reveal an underlying message. The message may not be transparent on the surface but it solidly exists. It is an urge to be recognised by the audience and not necessarily by the actual reader who is now reading the text, but by the potential reader whose recognition of the writer is of great significance or vitality for the writer. The writer writes, in this sense, in order to be recognised. Recognition of identity, therefore, constitutes one of the most striking aspects of a writer's writing. This recognition, as we will see later on, is not only about the positive sides or flaunting dimensions of the writer, but also incorporates a great variety of attributes, traits, moods, affects, and pains in relation to the writer. Furthermore, the writer is not always consciously aware of his/her urge for recognition.

The Logical, Linguistic, and Psychological Model of the Discussion

Here, we try to present our claim in a logical framework in order to clarify the content and implications of what is being said. All writings will ultimately turn into a 'proposition' or a 'sentence' form. They may purport an affirmative relation between the subject and predicate or a negative relation between those two. In this category, the writer affirms or negates, approves or disapproves, ratifies or nullifies something. The writer takes for granted that the audience, the potential reader that he/she writes for, does the same; i.e. to comply with the writer in the same process of affirmation or negation, approval or disapproval, ratification or nullification which all consist in recognising the writer with respect to what he/she wants to be recognised for. In some cases, the recognition immediately takes place because of the authority that the potential reader immediately confirms for the writer. Jonathan Culler's example (1997) is worth mentioning here. When the narrator of Jane Austen's Emma begins, Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, Culler writes, "We don't sceptically wonder whether she really was handsome and clever. We accept this statement until we are given reason to think otherwise." What we have here is the writer's urge, even in the unconscious level, that what is presented be accepted by the potential reader.

In the above mentioned example, the form of the writing, at least what is quoted here, does not make up a proposition in the logical sense of the word since it does not establish a copula that connects the subject i.e. Emma, to its predicate i.e. handsome, clever, and rich, etc. Grammatically speaking, it does not serve as a connecting link nor does it establish an identity between subject and complement. Nonetheless, it exposes the affirmation and it demands the recognition. The writer writes for the potential reader who says, "Fine. Let's keep on reading." The potential reader whom the writer wants doesn't start denying the writer right at the beginning of his/her reading. The writer writes in the hope that what he/she writes will be recognised by the potential reader he/she is looking for and this, eventually, leads to the recognition of the writer. The writer may not expect that the whole constituents of his/her writing will be recognised, but he/she never writes without the urgent urge to be recognised. It is similar to the utopian hope of everyone that, while not expecting everyone to like their choice of hat or suit or hairstyle, there is at least one aspect of their appearance that everyone likes about them.

A poem by Paul Verlaine presents another example: Il pleut dans mon coeur! Comme il pleut sur la ville. (It cries in my heart, as it rains on the town). Here, the poem obviously calls on the potential reader to recognise the emotion being affiliated to the poet. Although this recognition partially focuses on the emotion, it essentially goes back to the writer, i.e. the poet whose urge to be recognised is crystallised in his piece of writing. The poet presents an affirmation regarding what is being experienced in the realm of his heart and wants the potential reader to have congruity with him in this affirmation. The logical form of the writing here also turns into a proposition.

The point is that the form is not the mere determinant of the recognition since the form may not exactly produce a logical judgement, proposition, or sentence which evidently discloses the relationship between the subject and predicate. The grammatical or linguistic form cannot be taken as the only yardstick for our diagnosis either. Expletives, which fill the subject positions for structural reasons and turn up in the subject positions of the sentence or the NP position, are not real subjects. (Note the second example by Paul Verlaine and his use of 'it' in the subject position). What really matters, and is the centrepiece of the claim, is that the writing can be translated into the proposition or sentence form regardless of having the perfunctory qualifications of logical or linguistic forms. That ultimate proposition or sentence which can be elicited from the writing of the writer by the potential reader reveals the writer's urge for recognition. Although the writer may display his/her urge for the potential reader to recognise a series of facets belonging to him/her, the ultimate recognition is that of the author, i.e. authorial recognition.

Let us note Robert Frost's two-line poem:

We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.

On the surface, there may be no clear sign indicating the poet's urge to be recognised. However, if we fathom into the profound layer of the poem, the least we will find out is that the poet offers what he wants to be recognised as an understanding, as a special interpretation, as what he feels is worth mentioning. Otherwise why would he say or write what he writes? It is as though the poet opens a window through which we can see something no matter what it is that we see. The mere action of opening the window indicates and verifies the existence of the one who opens the window. So the window, in itself, implies the existence of the one who opens the window.

However, as potential readers, we might be so intensely immersed in the window or what appears through the window that we ignore the one who has opened the window. The two line poem mentioned above is what we see through the window and many interpretations might crop up in relation to what that thing is (For example, what does 'dancing' mean? What is the contrast between knowing and supposing? Who is we?). But the point of the argument, here, is not focusing on what we see through the window and engaging on presenting interpretations or meanings. The point is to focus our attention on the one who has opened the window. This window opening enterprise carries with it a deep sense of recognition; it reveals the urge of the one who has opened the window to be recognised by the ones who are the potential observers of observing that recognition. The moment they take a look at the window or what appears through the window, they see the presence of the one who has opened the window, and that is the ultimate urge of the one who has opened the window, i.e. being recognised.

There is a subtlety here: sometimes the one who opens the window is so closely tied and linked to the window that the main objective for him/her is the recognition of the window; consequently, we may not see the evidently transparent urge of the one who has opened the window to be recognised as much as we see the emphasis on the window itself or what it appears through the window. But this is just the surface; the deep part entails the urge of the one that is behind the window, the one who has opened the window, the one whose urge for recognition has led him/her to open the window. In addition, this displays a unity between the one who opens the window (the writer) and the window (the writing). This unity is sometimes so strong that the one who opens the window is totally crystallised in the window so that he/she wants nothing but the recognition of this crystallisation viz. the writing since he /she is the embodiment of the writing and the writing is the embodiment of him/her. Therefore, the very urge eventually goes back to the one who has opened the window, i.e. the writer or poet. The authorial recognition substantially manifests itself.

Sometimes the writing clearly exhibits an emphasis and urge for recognition by the unambiguous reiteration of pronouns or possessive adjectives. The following poem by Langston Hughes (1902-67) is another example of authorial recognition:

Way down south in Dixie,
Break the heart of me.
They hung my black young lover
To a crossroad tree.
Way down south in Dixie,
Break the heart of me.
Love is a naked shadow,
On a gnarled and a naked tree.

The poet clearly voices his call for recognition - recognition of the pain, anguish, suffering, and loss. The centrepiece of recognition, here, goes back to the emotional facets belonging to the poet. Those emotions constitute an independent entity being not equal to the whole entity and existence of the poet. Nonetheless, the poet (at the time of producing or writing the work) is so closely bound and tied to those psychological experiences that he feels the completely dramatic effect of the incident on his entire soul (break the heart of me). By ascribing the elements of this incident to his own self and soul, the poet unambiguously shows his urge for recognition which on the surface may make us differentiate between what he wants us to recognise and he himself. Recalling the analogy of the window, we can see how the poet (the one who has opened the window) centres on the happening (what we can see through the window) rather than himself (the one who opened the window). The point culminates itself here, that what is seen through the window is ultimately under the auspices of the one who has opened the window.

Sometimes the significance, anguish, ecstasy, beauty, and/or mystery of what is seen through the window is so paramount for the one who opens the window that he/she may let the whole focus be centred on what is seen at the cost of ignoring or disregarding himself/herself. In such cases, the writer or poet mobilises all possibilities to concentrate on what is seen through the window rather than on the one who opened the window. This reveals the mysteriously inextricable ties between the writer (or poet) and what is imputed to him/her. But once we delve in to the whole process and look for the roots, we unavoidably face the specific "I" who requires recognition. The pronoun "I" always looms up in the final analysis of the complications which may block or darken accessibility to this diagnosis.

The use of the pronoun "I" is not always obvious; it may try to disguise itself under numerous masks but as we track down the components of writing, we eventually bump into the long awaited "I" which is sitting with a strong urge to be revealed, to be recognised and to be acknowledged. Empirically speaking, go to the people who proscribe using "I." Tell them that you read what they wrote, that their writing doesn't make any sense, and that their work is nothing but a failure! Closely examine them while you are saying these words; meticulously look at their face, eyes, body language, etc.; you will definitely see their anger, their detestation, and their clamorous outcry which challenges your ferocious assail against their holy, sacred urge for recognition, recognition of their "I." Just as they dislike someone trampling on their feet, so writers don't want to be denied. Their writing is a manifestation of an element of their identity; denying their writing is tantamount to denying their identity. Every writing essentially affirms or negates something and seeks recognition in this connection. This affirmation or negation, implicitly or explicitly, consciously or unconsciously, discloses the one who is behind this affirmation or negation, the one whose urge to be recognised (in the broadest sense of the word) caused him/her to take the pen and write.

The Arguments and Counter Arguments

The claim mentioned in the preceding sections reiterates that there is always an urge for recognition in every piece of writing, and that the writer writes in order to be recognised by a potential reader who recognises him/her. One might argue that some writings are anonymously written, such as the poem about Richard Corey or many other prose or poems which do not have a clearly mentioned author. Many pieces of writings are available whose authors have concealed their real name by using a sobriquet, nickname, pseudonym, or alias (e.g., Johannes de Silentio by Sorren Kierkegaard). How can one say that these authors, who have hidden their identity, had an urge for recognition? How do we prove the existence of an urge for recognition in these sorts of writings, which do not seemingly substantiate our claim?

We need to pose some questions in order to argue the veracity of our previously mentioned claim: why did those anonymous writers write those anonymously shown pieces of writing? Why did they take a pen and put into writing what they wrote about? Isn't this a confirmation that they at least wanted to share or display what they were internally aware of with or for the potential reader? Does the action of writing itself not indicate that they wanted to somehow expose or send out what may be described as a part of them? Might it not have been social restriction, censorship, fear, or trepidation that prevented these writers from bravely or clearly mentioning their names? Does the mere action of writing in an anonymous way not prove that the writer is so sensitive and caring about his/her writing that he /she may overlook his/her name because he/she wants the writing to be exposed to the public? Does this not signify that the writer is so closely bound and tied to the writing that he/she wants the writing to be sent out and presented even at the expense of forgetting or ignoring or hiding his /her name because he/she feels that the writing is nothing but him/herself? Does this not corroborate that the writer is seeking the presentation, and the recognition of the writing? Why, otherwise, would the writer have written? It might be said that, here, the recognition goes to the work, the writing, and not the one who wrote, but can we really separate the writing from the writer in the sense that writing happened out of nowhere? Isn't the writing like an effect, which displays a cause which lies behind it? Isn't writing a representation of identity? Isn't it true that the writer as a creator creates the writing? In addition to all, why does the writer write? Does he/she not feel that he/she is the one who is writing? Does he /she not want to present or offer any kind of thing, no matter what it is, to at least some who may be his/her potential audience? Recognition, even in an anonymous way, ultimately consists in the writer's recognition. (Let us remember here what Freud said: immortality means being loved by many anonymous people). The thought or the dream of being recognised by potential readers is always within the writer's mind.

One might bring another argument into play, by asking when someone writes a handbook, such as a manual about the Boeing company and its products, or when a secretary writes down the instructions or blueprint of some mundane clerical job, what kind of recognition could be conceivable? Where is the urge for recognition here? How do we account for our claim? It is true that recognition of the so-called writers of these examples is not comparable at all with that of authentic writers, but authorial recognition exists here as well. In other words, the secretary or the Boeing expert writes in specific ways in order to receive approval and recognition by those whose endorsement will be of significance. Consequently, the secretary or the Boeing employee writes in accordance with the criteria, formulations, and regulations which eventually boost his/her recognition. These so-called writers do not write in any way they might choose to write because they are expected to write in specific ways which meet the standard of those specific writings. These writers write within the required frameworks in order to get a specific form of recognition.

Another argument might resort to citing examples of writings in which the author clearly depreciates him/her/self. The writer in these kinds of writings sells him/herself short in various ways. How can our claim be true for such writers and writings where there is obviously a desire to disclaim or an urge for denial? The point is that even in denial there is an urge for recognition. You, as a writer, want someone to know (even if that someone does not exist within your scope of knowing) that you are tired, that you are disappointed, that you are frustrated, that you have no interest in yourself. You write in these cases to declare your unconscious urge for recognition amidst the arduous path of alienation. Besides, depreciation, psychologically speaking, is in pursuit of appreciation and recognition. People who harshly depreciate themselves and put themselves down hate to hear or receive the same depreciating response from his/her audience. Someone who writes, "Oh I know I'm good for nothing and I want to die!" is not waiting for the atrocious response of "You bet your sweet life! You better die before it's too late!" He/she is waiting for a response not unlike the following: "Life without you is like twenty without two."

Every book or piece of writing is an extended sentence which ultimately affirms or negates something; regardless of form, which may be logically devoid of copula or linguistic appearance, which may be a performative utterance (e.g., I promise to give you the book.). Instead of a constative utterance (He promised to bring me the book.), the whole constellation of writing is transferable to a proposition which calls for confirmation or nullification, and presents the urge of the author to be recognised by the potential reader. It might be said that performative utterances are not true and false and do not describe or explain something but merely perform the action they designate; and that constative utterances are true and false and describe something or make a statement (as J.L. Austin (1950), the British philosopher, proposed the distinction between them). The point, which can further disambiguate our claim and argument, is that we not get caught in the formal analysis of the writing but, instead, go beyond what the mere form(s) express. Even with the use of performative utterances (if we assume that the whole writing of a writer is nothing but performative utterances), the writer is in pursuit of an objective. He/she follows his/her goal, albeit unconsciously. It is true that once we say, "I promise to bring you the book," we have not described a state of affairs, and that this is nothing but performing the act of promising, nonetheless the utterance is itself the act. I may want you to recognise my utterance which ultimately embodies my own recognition. The writer may write nothing but a series of performative utterances which formally are not categorised as true or false since they only perform the action they designate, yet the authorial recognition is still there if not for any reason except for the fact that the author wants the potential reader to have congruity with him in the uttering of the performative utterances.

Hierarchy of Authorial Recognition

Authorial recognition, though found in every writing, is not equally and invariably the same for every writer. In other words, the urge for recognition varies. One might have an insignificant urge compared to others who might have an insatiably strong urge for recognition. The level of recognition which satisfies one author may not give any kind of satisfaction to another author. The person who writes the manual for Boeing expects a specific recognition within the framework of his/her writing. His/her writing does not have the quintessential recognition such as L.M. Montgomery received by writing Anne of Green Gables. Recognition of the writing by the secretary is also limited to its circumscribing parameters, which emanate from the writing itself. The more personal the writings, the more the urge for recognition can be found. But, as Roz Ivanic (1998) claims, "no writing is impersonal," so there is always the footstep of a person in any writing notwithstanding the non-existence of the pronoun "I." Therefore, there is always an authorial recognition in any writing which, indeed, may be different from a qualitative point of view. A school boy who is forced to write because of a teacher's insistence carries a kind of authorial recognition which lies far way from that of T.S. Eliot or Fyodor Dostoevsky. The least level of recognition that the boy may receive may be that of a positive, encouraging response from the teacher indicating that he /she has done the job (if not a good job).

A significant element in the hierarchy of authorial recognition is that the writing itself essentially demands a different level of recognition. The more the writing touches upon universal and quintessential issues, the more the recognition will or may come. The more the writing develops harmony and consonance with the souls and thoughts of human beings, the more it will create numerous forms of recognition. The fact that L.M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables has been translated into more than twenty languages in the world casts some light here. This hierarchy of authorial recognition, however, should not obfuscate the distinction between the writing and the urge of the writer for recognition.

One might argue that scientific or so-called academic writings or five theme paragraph papers are usually written without the use of personal pronouns and that therefore they do not open space for any kind of or level of authorial recognition. But you need only harshly criticise or ignore those of kinds of writings and gauge the author's response to see the veracity of the claim that they too carry a desire for authorial recognition. A paper dealing with a problem in math may not reflect an author's urge for recognition on the surface but, deep within, there dwells a strong authorial urge. A lollipop may soothe a child and give him/her satisfaction but it certainly cannot give the appropriate satisfaction to an adult who is seeking beyond sublunary goals and demands. There is certainly a hierarchy for authorial recognition. Moreover, there is the multiplicity of elements within a writing which may be the primary target of the author for recognition such as emotional states but they ultimately return to recognition of the "I" who is always behind the writing. A poem, for instance, may underscore an element of loneliness and the poet obviously expects the actual reader to recognise that feature as he/she delineates it but this, eventually, endorses recognition of the poet as well. This case of loneliness may not be identical for the author of a math formula but that author is also in pursuit of recognition at another level - the least of which could be the approval or endorsement of his/her formula which, ultimately, embodies his/her recognition.

Dialogism and Recognition

The concept of dialogism originally dates back to the German philosopher, George Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1170-1831). In Hegelian epistemology, self-consciousness takes place in a mutual way in that the person attains a concept about him/herself while understanding the concept of the other person. Therefore, there is always a simultaneity. Self-concept, therefore, is acquired by the individual simultaneously with his/her concept of the other and through what Markova (1997) calls "the process of mutual acknowledgement (or recognition) of one individual by the other." Rozenweig (1921) and Markova (1994) claim that the religiously oriented Neo-Kantian philosophers coined the term dialogism. According to Markova (1997), the Neo-Kantians were concerned with the 'dialogical principle' involved in the relationship between the "I" and "Thou" that is established and maintained through speech and communication. Bakhtin (1979/1986), who according to Markova (1997) also adopted the term 'dialogism', believes that all understanding is dialogical in nature (Volosinov/Bakhtin 1973:102). He also claims that in the process of knowledge, human subjects reflexively cognise other human subjects and their products (Bakhtin 1979/1986:161).

What can be of help in relation to our argument here is that dialogism implies the element of recognition. There can always be a dialogism not only in face-to-face, vocalised, and/or verbalised communication but also in any kind of written communication or text. This leads us to what was already mentioned as the potential reader or potential audience for the writer. The writer always writes for a potential reader who reads his/her text and recognises him/her. Even if the writer does not make the text available for others and does not allow others to peek at what has been written, the writer always writes while considering a potential reader who appreciates and acknowledges and recognises him/her. "If one end of the bridge depends on me, then the other depends on my addressee" (Volosinov/Bakhtin 1973:83).

The least that dialogism can tell us is the process of mutual acknowledgement or recognition of one individual by the other. A writer who writes something always thinks (consciously or unconsciously) about some potential reader(s) who acknowledges and recognises him/her. Writing does not take place based on monologism and is not a one-sided process or act. Writing occurs in a mutual or reciprocal context in that the elements of revealing, exhibiting, and displaying are always conceivable in the act of writing. As the verbs mentioned above imply, they demand an object, i.e. revealing something, exhibiting something, etc. But there will always be a question of "why?" for such objective forms; namely, "Why does he show? Why does he reveal? Why does he display?" The possibility of the use of the interrogative forms of "why?" and "what?" suggests the possibility of the existence of an objective, a goal, a want for the writer. This possibility, ipsofacto, implies that the author undertakes an enterprise that is neither a unilateral nor one-sided act. It suggests that there is always (even if not in actuality, but in potentiality) some reader who recognises the author and gives a positive (or negative) answer to authorial recognition.

When someone speaks and articulates, he/she wants a listener to hear him/her. If there is no one around and the person talks (which might be nonsensical to some), he/she thinks about a potential listener who recognises what he/she says, i.e. recognises him/her. And if the person does not talk aloud, he/she definitely talks inside, and more definite than that, he/she has a potential listener even if that listener is no one but him/herself. Ask anyone who writes or talks if they think about an addressee when writing and talking, you will always find another pronoun beside(s) "I." This further substantiates our claim that even the most futile, the most absurd, and the most banal form of writing demands recognition and that recognition is, indeed, authorial recognition which is associated with the author. The essence and quiddity of recognition are different from author to author but the very urge is always there. Even in the most sublime, transcendental types of writing where there is no room for hubris, the writer wants recognition, the least of which is the conformity and congruity of the potential reader with those sublime and transcendental concepts that the writer has presented. This congruity, which endorses the thoughts and ideas or beliefs of the writer, is certainly an acknowledgement or recognition of him/her who has been crystallised in his/her writing. (Recall the analogy of the window).

Pedogogical Implications

Failure to positively recognise students' writings is tantamount to failing to recognise their identity, thereby insinuating negative and deleterious energies to their minds and souls. A writer, before anything else, is a human being who needs to be recognised, at least, as a human being. Even if his/her writings appear to be nothing but a terrible failure, he/she needs recognition. It is the teacher with perspicacity, wisdom, and emotional intelligence who praises and criticises. Mere brutal criticism will do nothing but lead to destruction, despair, despondency, resentment, and pessimism. This statement requires no statistical nor speculative confirmation: Pause for a moment and remember how you feel when you are denied, when you are ignored, or when you not recognised.

The spirit of education is associated and coupled with recognition. Recognition does not mean the endorsement of any irrational, illogical, nonsensical, or hackneyed thought which appears in the form of writing. It does not consist of verifying errors, mistakes, or blunders in writing. What is extremely crucial for students in writing classes is that their feelings, their ideas, their beliefs, their understanding, their having an "I" be properly recognised. Just as people are sensitive about their names being pronounced properly, they are sensitive about their writings. This is emotionally true for students.

If teachers realise that their understanding of language, thinking, mind, and recognition is not the only indisputable way of cognition and recognition; and if they allow themselves to doubt and question recognition and cognition in the broadest sense of the word; they will open up a space of possibility, hope, and celebration. This will, practically speaking, open new horizons for the enhancement of education. Education is inseparably linked to delicacies of human soul, body, and mind; our acts of education must not treat human beings as inanimate objects devoid of feelings, emotion, and spirit.

Students as writers need the serious, caring attention of teachers, who, in turn, by meticulous, constructive recognition of students' writings and identity, can recognise their own lofty human dialogue in relation to other human beings, i.e. their students, in the transcendental process of becoming. Teachers also need to recognise that not recognising students' works and writings is not a constructive way for realizing recognition for themselves. An internal richness which generates self-recognition and composure cannot be attained, in any way, by building castles on the ruins of others.

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Sayyed Mohsen Fatemi is a doctoral student in the Department of Language and Literacy Education at the University of British Columbia. He currently holds a Ph.D. in psychology and is a published author and translator of seven books. He is also a published poet. Some of his interests include poetry and language, psychoanalysis, discourse and hermeneutics, dialectology, language and cognition, and psychological and sociolinguistic approaches to language.

Copyright rests with the author.