I love you. Could you be more specific?

Six Greek words that could make our relationships considerably less confusing

We use the same word for our partner, our children, our oldest friend and a particularly satisfactory potato. Then we wonder why “But I love you” sometimes fails to clarify very much.

One person means, “I want you.” Another means, “You are my family.” A third means, “Your wellbeing matters to me.” All say love, then stare at one another like customers who have ordered the same dish and received entirely different lunches.

Imagine having a few more words available. Ordinary words, usable over breakfast, without anyone fetching a philosophy degree.

Greek vocabulary offers some possibilities. These meanings overlap and have varied across history; this is a playful modern borrowing, not an ancient six-drawer filing system for the heart. The pronunciation guides below are approximate English versions, with the stressed syllable in capitals. St Andrews Encyclopaedia of Theology

1. Agape: I want good things for you

Say it: AG-uh-pay.

Agape is often used for generous love concerned with another’s wellbeing, particularly in Christian thought. Here, we can borrow it for care that does not depend on getting something back.

“I still have agape for my ex. I hope he’s happy. Preferably somewhere I don’t have to collect his parcels.”

This would be useful whenever care is mistaken for an invitation. Wanting someone to flourish does not necessarily mean wanting to resume a relationship, lend them money or discuss their latest crisis at midnight.

“My agape is intact. My availability ends at nine.”

We could acknowledge that someone matters without accidentally offering them a lifetime subscription to our time. Caring would remain meaningful even when it came with opening hours.

2. Eros: Yes, there is a spark

Say it: AIR-oss.

Eros names desire and passionate attraction. Its philosophical meanings extend beyond sex, but in our imagined everyday vocabulary, it would help us talk about that particular pull towards someone.

“The eros is tremendous. Unfortunately, so is his commitment to explaining my own job to me.”

Useful information. Attraction has arrived; compatibility is still looking for parking.

Within an established relationship, it might allow a more precise conversation:

“I love our life together, but I miss the eros.”

That sentence could still hurt. Precision does not provide emotional anaesthetic. But it identifies something to explore without declaring the entire relationship a fraud.

Equally, “I’m not feeling eros tonight” would not have to mean, “I have reconsidered your entire value as a human being.”

Sometimes it means someone is tired. Sometimes the bedsheets feel wrong. Sometimes desire is simply absent. It deserves a conversation, not an automatic verdict.

3. Philia: I actually like you

Say it: fi-LEE-uh.

Philia is affectionate regard and friendship: the love of enjoying, trusting and valuing someone as a companion.

“I came for the eros. I stayed for the philia. Also, you know how the printer works.”

Philia gives friendship its own substantial word. It need not introduce itself apologetically as “just friends”, as though the relationship failed an audition.

It also names something couples can miss while continuing to manage a household with impressive efficiency.

“Our logistics are excellent. Our philia could use an afternoon together.”

Perhaps nobody needs a grand romantic gesture. Perhaps they want to laugh with the person who currently communicates with them mainly through shopping lists.

“Do you want a date night?”

“Actually, I want some philia. A walk, a ridiculous conversation, no discussion of the boiler.”

4. Storge: You are one of my people

Say it: STOR-ghee, with a hard g, as in ‘give’.

Storge is familial affection, especially the love associated with parents and children. In our borrowed vocabulary, it could also describe the familiar tenderness of chosen family.

“You’re not technically my brother, but the storge is undeniable. So is your habit of stealing my chips.”

This is the affection of belonging, of knowing someone’s preferred mug and recognising their footsteps. It can be quiet enough to escape notice.

“My storge is strong. My capacity for a three-day family gathering is not.”

What a useful sentence that could be. Leaving early would no longer have to serve as evidence in the prosecution’s case against your affection.

Belonging and unlimited tolerance for noise, conversation or proximity are different matters. You can feel deeply connected to your people while needing them to go home.

5. Philautia: I am also someone I care about

Say it: fi-LAW-tee-uh.

Philautia means self-love. It has been used for both healthy self-regard and excessive self-concern; here, we mean taking your own wellbeing seriously.

“I was going to say yes out of guilt, but my philautia requested a word.”

This would be especially helpful for anyone whose care for others routinely spends money from an account already in overdraft.

“My agape does not come at the cost of my philautia.”

Or, less ceremoniously:

“I care about you. I’m still going to bed.”

Philautia would not make us exempt from consideration, compromise or repair. It would give our own needs a seat at the table, instead of leaving them outside holding everyone’s coats.

“I owe you an apology” and “I deserve respectful treatment” could comfortably occupy the same sentence.

6. Xenia: Come in; you are welcome here

Say it: ZEN-ee-uh.

Xenia refers to hospitality and guest-friendship. Historically, it involved reciprocal expectations between hosts and guests, rather than simply a warm feeling towards strangers. en.wikipedia.org

In everyday life:

“Their xenia was wonderful. Within ten minutes, I had tea, slippers and an opinion about the neighbours.”

Xenia could name the care we offer before intimacy exists: welcoming a newcomer, making space at a table, helping a guest feel at ease.

It could also accommodate limits.

“You’re very welcome for the weekend. Our xenia includes breakfast and ends on Sunday afternoon.”

Clear hospitality. Everyone knows where they stand, including the person washing the towels.

Fewer guessing games, better questions

An expanded vocabulary would not abolish jealousy, mismatched desire or arguments about the dishwasher. Humanity would retain plenty of material.

But imagine the ease of saying, “I’m missing philia”, rather than “You don’t love me”. Or hearing, “I need some philautia tonight”, without immediately translating it into rejection.

For some autistic people, uncertainty about what someone means or where a relationship stands can be particularly taxing. “Of course I love you” may be heartfelt and still leave the actual question unanswered. Do you desire me? Enjoy my company? Want me in your life? A more specific vocabulary could make affection easier to trust by making its meaning clearer. Less emotional guesswork; fewer relationship statements arriving without their instruction manual. We would still need to ask what they mean to each person. Nobody should have to pass a Greek vocabulary test to be loved.

The point would be to make our affection easier to recognise and our requests easier to understand.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes. Storge, philia, agape. Quite a lot of eros, actually.”

“Lovely. And why are you going home?”

“Philautia. I need my own pillow.”

Finally, a conversation in which love and a good night’s sleep both survive.