Is it possible that language defines the way we think? Linguistics have taken this question seriously, since German philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein stated: “the limits of my world are the limits of my language.” Perhaps this is true, and we are only to experience those things we can name. How do we know if we are experiencing a feeling if we can’t name it? Would we consider ourselves “sad” if we didn’t know what sadness means?
The Inuits, for example, have 50 words to refer to different types of snow. We, on the contrary, call all of them with only one word. But does this mean that we’re unable of perceiving the subtle differences between these fifty types of snow, or just that we don’t know how to name them?
We confront the same problem when we talk about love. In the English language, “love” is a word that often depends on the context, not on the meaning of the word itself. We can tell our mothers we love them every time we call them, and it won’t mean the same thing as when we pronounce it to a lover in the intimacy of our bedroom, or to your friend who bought Star Wars tickets six months early.
But what if there were a word for each of these types of love? Would we feel them differently?
Eros
Romeo and Juliet (1884), Frank Dicksee
The Greeks, who are well-known for their open-loving habits, had more than 6 words to describe different types of love. The first of these types of loves was sexual passion, which they called eros. This kind of love is present in all the erotic tradition, from Sappho to the Romantics. One particular poem that nails it at illustrating eros is E.E. Cummings’ “may i feel said he”, where he recreated a dialogue between a man and woman who impersonate desire by engaging in passionate lovemaking. The ending, full of onomatopoeia, represents the ways passionate lovers let themselves be taken by desire:
(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you’re divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)
Ludus
Pastoral Scene (c. 1638), Pieter Paul Reubens
Have you ever thought that you felt a sort of love for people you just played around with? The Greeks called this ludus. It was the word with which they understood childish and teenage infatuation. This type of love is clearly expressed in Sir Walter Raleigh’s “The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd”. In a sense, the nymph thinks of how her ludus affair with man cannot be lasting, because youth is transitory:
But could youth last, and love still breed
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
Agape
Summer (c. 1555), Jacopo Tintoretto
The Greeks also had a word to describe feeling love for everyone and everything in the world. This emotion was named agape, which the Romans later translated as caritas. An English word evolved from this last one, “charity”. However, it does not bear the feeling of selfless love that agape withheld. A modern poet who understood this universal feeling was none other than Walt Whitman. The clearest example of this is Song of Myself , where he recognizes the interconnectivity between all beings, and he expresses love and admiration for every single thing in the universe:
I celebrate myself and sing myself
And what I assume you shall assume
For every atom belonging to me also as good belongs to you.
Pragma
Paolo and Francesca Da Rimini (1867), Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Ever wondered how your grandparents made it to stay together for so long? The Greeks also had a word for that. It was pragma, which stood for longstanding love. It’s portrayed beautifully in Anne Brandstreet’s “To My Dear and Loving Husband”. In it, she depicts the difficulties and wonders of sharing your life with a person. As the poem in itself, its first verse is short and bone-rattling:
If ever two were one, then surely we.
Philia
Sappho and Erinna in a Garden at Mytilene (1864), Simeon Solomon
Haven’t you ever felt a love so deep for a friend you can’t even name it? Ancient Greeks would’ve called it philia, which was how they referred to the deep bond soldiers developed after fighting side by side. Today, not many of us have to face the harshness of war in order to nurture a deep connection with our friends. They stand side by side with us in every hardship in life, for which we’re all forever grateful. Emily Brontë excelled at showing how friendship and love go together in a poem with the self-explaining title “Love and Friendship”. She even considered friendship as something more lasting than love itself, comparing love to a rose-briar and friendship to the holly-tree. By the ending she recommends:
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He still may leave thy garland green.
Philautia
Narcissus (1771), Nicolas-Bernard Lépicié
Last but not least, the Greeks named a very important type of love which we sometimes tend to forget. The word was philautia, and it has been translated as love for one’s own self. This tradition is something we should not forget, because the way we relate with everybody depends exclusively on how we relate with ourselves. None else than William Shakespeare penned this complex relationship in his Sonnet number 62. The poem starts considering self-love a sin, confusing it with shallow vanity. But after looking in the mirror, the voice of the poem changes its view on self-love, realizing it doesn’t come out of vanity, but out of age and experience:
Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
-books that are bound to teach you the truths about love, and the poems and songs that express how love is eclectic . ***
ReferencesYes Magazine The Poetry Foundation
