6-18-88 I was thinking about the connection between literality and sincerity today. To me, literality consists in meaning what one says. Sincerity consists in believing what one says. Thus, there are three items that get linked: (1) what one believes, (2) what one intends to say (put differently: what one means), and (3) what one says. The first and third are connected by the concept of sincerity and the second and third by the concept of literality. There seems to be no word to express the relation between (1) and (2). When you think about it, there’s a nice symmetry among these items. What we say is a function of the meaning of the expressions that we use. Natural languages are out there, so to speak; we latch onto them in order to express ourselves. But this doesn’t always work. Sometimes we say one thing and mean another. For example, I may intend to say that the sky is blue, but instead say that the grass is green. The recipient of my utterance may think me strange. I can also communicate nonliterally, as when I say “That’s a pretty hat” and intend to say “That’s an ugly hat”. In this case, if I’ve communicated my intentions properly, the recipient ignores what I said and fastens upon what I meant. What we believe, of course, is private, though there is evidence of it. So the continuum runs from belief (the most private) to intention to what is actually said (the most public).
Arizonans were recently asked which disease they fear the most. As expected, AIDS [Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome] topped the list. Sixty-nine percent of the respondents said that they fear AIDS more than any other disease. Cancer was second (twenty-one percent), heart disease or stroke third (four percent), and Alzheimer’s disease fourth (two percent). Alongside the column of percentages is a column showing the number of deaths from each disease. In 1986, in Arizona, there were 111 deaths caused by AIDS. Some 6,126 died of cancer, 10,045 of heart disease or stroke, and 192 of Alzheimer’s disease. The story line was roughly as follows: Why are people so worried about AIDS, when it ranks fourth in terms of number of deaths? The implication is that people are irrational in their attitudes toward AIDS.
I’ll tell you why people are so worried about AIDS. First, unlike the other diseases on the list, it’s contagious. You don’t catch cancer, heart disease, or Alzheimer’s disease. With AIDS, you never know whether you’ve contracted the disease in casual contact. Second, there’s no known cure for AIDS. Cancer and the other diseases have been around for many years, so health professionals have developed techniques for dealing with them. With AIDS, about all they can do is alleviate pain. Third, there’s a social stigma attached to AIDS that doesn’t attach to the other diseases. If you have AIDS, you must be either a drug user or a practicing homosexual, neither of which is looked upon with favor in our society. Ironically, this is one basis for fear that we can do something about. If we change our attitudes toward drug users and practicing homosexuals, there will be no need to worry about the social stigma of having AIDS. These are just some of the reasons why people fear AIDS, and not all of them are irrational. If any fear is rational (and I think that many fears are), then fear of AIDS is.
I took a four-mile walk this evening. Rain threatened, but I covered my [Sony] Walkman with a plastic bag and went anyway. It was fun. Although I was enveloped in mist for much of the walk, I saw a glorious sunset when I turned westward on Broadway [Boulevard] at Pantano [Road]. The sun, a massive orange ball, was just disappearing beyond the horizon. The entire western sky was ablaze, as if there were a tremendous forest fire miles away. It didn’t take long to disappear, after which the sky remained orange and yellow for twenty minutes. The rain accelerated with about a mile to go, but by then I was warm and it didn’t bother me. A man pulled his pickup to the side of the road, leaned over, opened the door, and asked if [sic; should be “whether”] I wanted a ride. “No, thanks”, I shouted; “I just live over there.” What a nice gesture! Speaking of rain, we’ve gone so long without it that the desert plants must have opened up immediately. I couldn’t help but notice the smell. It smelled like manure. But what better smell could there be? Rather than dry, desert air, we had moist, cool air for a change. The place was sensuous, alive.