Talking at cross purposes

I was listening to an interesting feature on the radio yesterday (link to Radio 4 iPlayer). It was talking about whether we see the world and put labels to what we see, or whether we see the world in a particular way because of the labels that we are given. You know the kind of thing (heck, I did a General Linguistics option as part of my degree in the mid-80s, and they were talking about this - it's hardly a new thought). The example people like to give is about Eskimos having over 50 words for snow, the various kinds thereof. Most of us can't distinguish between 50 different kinds of snow, but the Eskimo need to, so they have the words to do it.

The other example is colours. Do we see the colour spectrum in different ways, because our language chops it up in different ways? Those of you who speak Russian (you know who you are), will confirm that in Russian, there is an extra word for blue, compared to English. This made the presenter wonder if Russian is "a more richer language for describing the world" (sic - Come on Radio 4, "more richer"? Seriously?) But being pernickety aside, it is a rather fascinating question. They think that Homer didn't even have a word for blue at all, which is why he famously describes the Mediterranean sea as "wine-dark". Which makes you wonder how the Ancient Greeks would have started a conversation about the sky on a fine summer's day - but maybe that's just a British thing.

Bear with me. This question of whether language simply describes human experience, or whether it somehow forms it, by giving us categories to think within, has long fascinated me. I've posted about it before, talking about how "mummy guilt" is such a misnomer, because we don't really feel guilty per se. More sort of inadequate, or a little bit sub-standard on this occasion. But the English language doesn't have enough words on the spectrum from generally-a-bit-inadequate-but-let's-face-it-we're-all-human to I've-just-committed-a-murder-in-cold-blood. So we can't differentiate properly, and end up with the phrase "mummy guilt", which makes it sound like a bigger deal than it might otherwise have been (and then we feel even guiltier).

Where I'm going with this, is to ponder whether we feel different emotions, because we have different words for them, and therefore whether emotions are culturally conditioned, because they are linguistically conditioned. For example (and I truly am getting to my point here), I really missed the word "cross" when I was in America. It just isn't used at all. You have to be "mad", or "angry". Those seem rather higher octane than "cross". Do Americans not experience that low level slight aggravation (usually caused by children or pets, here's looking at you Hector, the cocker spaniel puppy who at 6 months old should know better than to pee on the floor)? Do they jump off the deep end, from being emotionally at rest, to being full blown angry? Are we Brits more phlegmatic by nature, simmering away quietly, and needed the word "cross" to describe that? Or - and here's the thing I started with - are we fashioned to feel that way from childhood because of the existence and usage of the word? Does it provide somewhere for us to be emotionally, that Americans simply don't have? That sounds superior and a little offensive, and I really don't mean to be so. I'm just pondering. I mean, trust the Brits to be refined and specific even in their anger! Or perhaps we are angry, and just don't want to admit it.

I did discuss the word "cross" with a friend in America, and she said she would use "frustrated", or possibly "annoyed", if she was looking for a less intense version of "mad". But I think I feel differently if I am cross, or frustrated, or annoyed. Cross, to me, is a definite space that I don't think another word exactly defines. Kind of interesting, don't you think?

Peoples, I am so wasted. There's definitely a PhD in here somewhere, isn't there? (And I meant "wasted", not "wasted" there. Blimey, isn't language complicated?)