Euripides is commonly acknowledged as the most innovative of the three tragedians of the Alexandrian Canon. The various aspects of his avant-garde modus scribendi have repeatedly been – and still are being – analysed:Footnote 1 his groundbreaking role in dramatising the power of Eros, described as ἀμαχός, his penetrative insight into the human psyche,Footnote 2 his penchant for philosophising,Footnote 3 his pioneer staging of self-sacrifice playsFootnote 4 – to mention but a few.Footnote 5
The present article aims to study a new, distinct aspect of Euripides’ novel dramaturgic style, an aspect that simultaneously encompasses the parameters of both syntax and semantics, thus emphasising the dynamic relation between them. My particular focus will be on the expression oὐκ ἂν δυναίμην. As we shall see, in Euripides’ dramas this negative potential optative functions as a stereotypical syntactic structure, occurring within a largely similar semantic context. But this is not the only remarkable aspect of the case. What really captures the reader’s attention is the peculiar fact that this expression is conspicuously absent from not only Aeschylus and Sophocles (at least, from what survives of them), but also from the rest of the tragic corpus which has survived to us. That is to say, it is Euripides who – as early as his Alcestis – introduces this expression into the linguistic register of tragedy and is the only tragic poet who ever uses it thereafter.Footnote 7 Within the surviving Euripidean corpus oὐκ ἂν δυναίμην occurs a total of sixteen times; nine times the phrase is spoken by men and seven times by women. It is remarkable that this is not a gender-related expression,Footnote 8 but a status-related one. Despite being uttered equally by both men and women, it is spoken exclusively by characters of a certain distinct status; that is, by royals (Hecuba), a demigod (Heracles), a hero (Iolaus), and a seer (Teiresias); never by some minor/secondary person, like a nurse, a messenger or even the chorus. This expression is normally followed by a final infinitive in present or aorist tense. On those occasions where it seems to be standing absolutely, the infinitive δρᾶσαι τάδε/τόδε (or similar) is to be understood by the context.
Nevertheless, before proceeding any further, a vital caveat is in order: as has already been noted above, and just as in any other study of ancient Greek literature, our knowledge is limited only to that small percentage of texts that have survived through the centuries until today, through either direct or indirect tradition, whether on some expensive and calligraphic parchment books or as papyri scraps underneath piles of dust and rubbish on Egyptian soil. Accordingly, our conclusions can never be conclusive; they remain open to potential challenge and review.
From within Euripidean texts οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην emerges as a loaded and complex phrase that communicates a correspondingly loaded and complicated meaning. It can express intricate notions that originate from three distinct parameters: the potential optative (in present tense), the verb δύναμαι, and the negation (οὐκ). By combining these three elements Euripides manages to intertwine syntax with content in an unprecedented way. Before proceeding to the analysis of individual passages, let us briefly examine these three elements.
First, the potential optative with ἄν by its very nature refers primarily to future. But when the verb is in present tense, the connection with present time is not lost. Hence, such an expression, as οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην, can simultaneously function within and refer to two temporal frames: present and future. Therefore, the actions or feelings/emotions expressed through this syntactic form are automatically assigned both a present and a future validity; but since it is impossible for this future temporal frame to be precisely fixed, the future duration of what is being expressed remains indefinite and – potentially – infinite. Interestingly, this effect generated by syntax interacts with the content in the Euripidean passages we shall study, and especially with the speakers’ devastatingly intense emotions.
Secondly, the verb δύναμαι, when employed in the potential optative,Footnote 9 emphatically highlights the notion of future possibility to such an extent that it eventually transforms it into a powerful and – almost inescapable – probability; and here becomes relevant the effect of the third element, the negation. This strong future probability receives a negative force and becomes a potent improbability, communicated in an assertive style, as if what is being said was not to be denied.Footnote 10
As far as syntax is concerned, the potential optative with ἄν can by and large stand independently. However, there is always a protasis, though in most cases it is implied, not stated. Among the following sixteen Euripidean passages, in only three cases is the protasis explicitly stated. In all other cases the implied protasis can be understood as conveying the meaning of ‘whatever were to happen’ or ‘under these circumstances’. And this dormant protasis becomes an additional way of expressing emphasis. In the analysis of each individual case we shall attempt to discern the protasis, if it is not explicit.
This negative potential optative (οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην) operates as a stereotypical structure within the Euripidean corpus, as a rhetorical tool that is reserved for high-status individuals of either sex. Euripidean characters use οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην sparingly, in order to envisage the impossible and unattainable in both the present and the future during significant or otherwise culminating dramatic moments of the play (for example, plot evolution), and always in intensely emotional circumstances. This ‘impossible’ may refer either to something that cannot be carried out for material reasons (the character is helpless; for example, case no. 6 from Hecuba) or to something that cannot happen because the character’s emotions will not allow it (for example, case no. 1 from Alcestis). In either case, the speaker’s situation is exceptional, since his or her emotions are running high. These heightened emotions can range from extreme grief or hatred to utmost despair or awe. In all cases the future associations introduced by the potential optative form constitute a key element in defining the speaker’s style. Its usage removes any momentary effect and assigns both a synchronic and a diachronic validity and duration to the speaker’s words and the pathos he or she conveys. Thus, the speaker’s extreme emotions are assigned a strong possibility (almost a reality) of an infinite temporal value. The royal – or otherwise distinct – status of the characters who use this expression may be directly relevant, since the characters in question often show signs of balancing between the pathos they express and their noble status (compare case no. 5 from Hecuba). As far as metre is concerned, οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην serves the poetic speech nicely, for it forms an excellent introduction for the iambic trimester, covering the first foot (– – ∪ –) and the first element of the second (–).
One might have reasonably expected that this Euripidean structure and usage would be somehow reflected in – or be imitated by – prose, given especially the established relationship between the tragic and the rhetorical genre in particular.Footnote 11 However, no such impact can be detected in our sources. The prose occurrences of οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην amount to well below a total of one hundred and occur as follows: Antiphon Sophist (fr. 49.22 DK), Xenophon (Mem. 2.3.8), Isocrates (6.4, 12.20, 12.168, 15.13, 15.54), Demosthenes (50.9, 59.26; both speeches are believed to be spurious), Plato (Tht. 148b6, 158b1, 207a4; Smp. 201c6), Lucian (DMort. 23.2, DD 1.2), Dionysius Halicarnassus (19.18.7), plus a number of later writers (for example, Ioannes Chrysostomus, Dioscorus, Michael Psellus, etc.). Apart from Antiphon’s case, all other prose instances postdate Euripides, and an assumption of intertextuality or, at least, some kind of communication between the genres cannot help but suggest itself. Nevertheless, I have looked into every prose occurrence of οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην and confidently report that the prose usage of this expression bears no hidden meaning between-the-lines; it is not charged with any distinct emotions; and the context is not of any exceptional nature. It simply – and indifferently – means ‘I could not (say or do something)’ either in a past time or in the present (equalling οὐ δύναμαι). It should also be noted that, as we move forward chronologically, the frequency of occurrences of οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην increases; for example, it occurs seventeen times in Libanius alone.
Let us now proceed to the analysis of the sixteen cases from the Euripidean corpus.Footnote 12 For this, I shall follow the chronological order of the plays.Footnote 13
Alcestis (438 BC)
Admetus employs this expression during his address to Heracles, when he refuses to take in the strange woman presented to him. Admetus’ sorrow for his dead wife reaches its climax just before the disclosure of the woman’s true identity. In lines 1045-7 the king of Pherae says:
οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην ἄδακρυς εἶναι: Here Admetus envisages the impossibility of holding back his tears, in the light of the devastating grief and pain he suffers for the loss of his wife. The protasis is explicit and can be extracted from the participle ὁρῶν, that is ‘if I were to see (her)’. The potential optative assigns an infinite duration to Admetus’ emotions; he cannot hold back his tears now nor will he be able to do this in the future. The presence of the verb δύναμαι is also vital for communicating to the spectators the exact state of Admetus’ psyche; for there is a palpable difference in intensity, when compared with the possible alternative options of saying, for example, οὐκ ἂν ἄδακρυς εἴην, or of using a conditional clause εἰ τήνδ’ ὁρῷμι ἐν δώμασι δακρύοιμι ἂν – options that would sound flat and lukewarm, or – at least – less powerful. Instead, Euripides deliberately chooses to employ this elaborate periphrasis, since the usage of the specific verb (δύναμαι) in the specific mood (negative potential optative) transforms and elevates the linguistic register of the speech. The connotations generated thereby do not simply translate as ‘I could not hold back my tears’, but rather allude to something much more intense and much more powerful that corresponds to Admetus’ heightened emotional state: ‘I would not have the strength to exceed human standards and hold back my tears’; ‘I would not possess the energy to handle such a situation.’ By combining δύναμαι with the negative potential optative Euripides constructs a strong and intense expression that fits perfectly within the rest of Admetus’ speech (1037-69), which likewise is meticulously structured and cumulatively interspersed with terms denoting pathos (cf. 1039: ἄλγος ἄλγει; 1047: νοσοῦντι μοι νόσον; 1065: μή μ’ ἕλῃς ᾑρημένον, 1069: πένθους γεύομαι πικροῦ, etc.). The potential optative simultaneously refers both to the present and, emphatically, to a chronotope other than that of the here-and-now; hence, it automatically clothes Admetus’ intense pathos with connotations of both present and an infinitely future time. On the contrary, the alternative, οὐ δύναμαι ἄδακρυς εἶναι, would have a merely immediate, present reference, whose impact would be predestined to swiftly fade away – from both Admetus’ heart and the audience’s memory.Footnote 14
Medea (431 BC)
In Medea Euripides employs οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην twice; in line 464 (uttered by Jason) and in line 1044 (uttered by Medea). In Jason’s case, οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην occurs at the end of his verbal attack on Medea, which he concludes with what I read as an affectionate statement (463-4):
Jason faces the impossibility of ever developing harsh feelings towards Medea and being ill-disposed towards her. The protasis here is explicit: εἰ στυγεῖς. The dramatic atmosphere is immersed in emotions. Despite criticizing Medea’s intemperate behaviour (cf. 447: τραχεῖαν ὀργὴν ὡς ἀμήχανον κακόν), Jason closes with an unexpectedly tender and caring statement that reveals his deep sympathy and consideration for her.Footnote 15 Medea, at the same moment, is in a diametrically opposite emotional state. Indicative of the intense emotional climate is the fact that Medea not only hates (μισεῖ) Jason, but she also loathes (στυγεῖ) him. The verb στυγέω is semantically stronger than μισέω, for it means to show hatred, not merely to feel it (cf. LSJ s.v.). There is an unbridgeable emotional gap between Jason and Medea. Medea feels and shows hatred for Jason (cf. the superlatives in her reply:Footnote 16 465: ὦ παγκάκιστε; 467: ἔχθιστος; 471-2: ἡ μεγίστη τῶν νόσων/ἀναίδεια). Simultaneously, Jason – though acknowledging Medea’s inimical disposition towards him – avows that he could never imagine himself feeling enmity towards her. In this particular passage the future associations introduced by the potential optative (οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην σοὶ κακῶς φρονεῖν) combine nicely with the adverb ποτε and together generate a stylistic overtone of oath; that is, the semantics of ‘I could never feel . . .’ resemble those of ‘I swear I will never feel . . .’ Jason admits the affectionate feelings that he has now and that he will always have for Medea (cf. the reiteration in line 620: πάνθ’ ὑπουργεῖν σοί τε καὶ τέκνοις θέλω).
The second example of οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην from Medea originates from Medea’s great monologue in the play’s fifth episode. Having confronted Creon, Jason, and Aegeus in the preceding episodes and having duped every one of them, Medea finally confronts herself, whom – alas! – she cannot dupe (1041-5):
Although οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην ostensibly stands absolutely here, the infinitive δρᾶσαι τόδε is easily understood as a complement; but no other concrete protasis can be detected than the categorical ‘whatever were to happen’. Despite Medea’s initial determination at the beginning of her monologue (1019: δράσω τάδε), the smile of her children makes her change her mind abruptly and incites her to abandon her plans.Footnote 17 Medea has so far in the play exhibited an admirable resolution and dynamism: she has adopted the male code of honour (383: θανοῦσα θήσω τοῖς ἐμοῖς ἐχθροῖς γέλων); she has been using military and athletic language (393: αὐτὴ ξίφος λαβοῦσα); and she has been promoting the virile characteristics of her nature (403: ἕρπ’ ἐς τὸ δεινόν· νῦν ἀγὼν εὐψυχίας). Yet, she collapses at the smile of her boys and tersely confesses in an outburst of immense pathos: οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην, ‘I could never do it’; ‘I would never have the willpower of even thinking of myself doing it.’ Medea’s emotional status has reached its zenith, as she confronts her inability to slay her own children. The potential optative enables her to assign both a present and a future validity to her words. Medea has so far displayed her decisiveness in an exclusively positive way through frequent usage of the future indicative (cf. 394: κτενῶ σφε, τόλμης δ’ εἶμι πρὸς τὸ καρτερόν; 399: λυγροὺς θήσω γάμους; 1019: δράσω τάδε, etc.); but she has not used direct negation (in indicative). Thus, the negative potential optative – rather than the negative indicative – harmonises much better with her attitude so far. Nonetheless, the infinite duration introduced by the potential optative does not last long. In fact, Medea’s usage of οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην is of special interest, for it is the one of only two cases from within the total of sixteen where the act dreaded and envisaged as impossible by the speaker is subsequently carried out within the play. The other such case is Pentheus in Bacchae 836: οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην θῆλυν ἐνδῦναι στολήν. In both cases the speakers undergo a drastic and unprecedented change of mental state (for Pentheus, see further below). Medea abruptly experiences a swift change of heart and mind immediately after expressing her resolution not to proceed with the killing of her children (1048-55):
The Children of Heracles (430 BC)Footnote 18
In this play the expression is uttered by Iolaus in his reply to Macaria’s request to be present in her sacrifice (560-4):
Iolaus experiences immense pathos at the prospect of Macaria’s voluntary sacrifice. The implied protasis is easily discernible: ‘if you were being killed’. The request put forward by Macaria is unbearable for Iolaus, who, being overwhelmed with grief, envisages the impossible and acknowledges his absolute unwillingness to carry out her request. That this is an out-of-the-ordinary emotional moment for Iolaos is made manifest by his previous behavior. Although Iolaus at this time denies Macaria his psychological and material support, in the past he had assisted Heracles in his labors and his bravery had been universally acknowledged ever since; compare Iolaus’ own statements in lines 88-9: τὸν Ἡράκλειον ἴστε που παραστάτην/Ἰόλαον· οὐ γὰρ σῶμ’ ἀκήρυκτον τόδε (‘You know, I am sure, of Iolaus, the man who stood at Heracles’ side. I am not unknown to fame.’); he had even volunteered (lines 451ff. ) to surrender himself and die (though the offer is turned down in lines 464ff.). Nonetheless, this man, acclaimed for his valour, yields and proves powerless, as he envisages being present at Macaria’s sacrificial killing.
Hecuba (424 BC)
The play’s extensive engagement with the art of rhetoricFootnote 19 has long been – and is still being – recognised. Despite the fact that Euripides’ contemporary and later oratory did not adopt the Euripidean usage of οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην, it so happens that in Hecuba this expression occurs a total of five times (four instances uttered by the Trojan queen herself and one by Agamemnon). Far from being coincidental, this evidence corroborates the argument put forward above, that is, that οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην was not meant as a disinterested way of saying ‘I cannot’, but as a forceful rhetorical tool. In lines 585-92 Hecuba addresses her dead daughter:
οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην ἐξαλείψασθαι φρενὸς τὸ σὸν πάθος: This elaborate formulation is distinctive, in that it brings together, in the actual text, pathos and the impossibility of enduring it. The implied protasis equals the generic ‘in any circumstances’. Hecuba is overwhelmed with successive calamities,Footnote 20 which, however, she has so far managed to bear by keeping herself distracted throughout their numerous occurrences. Nonetheless, the killing of her daughter is a source of grief that she considers impossible to eradicate from her mind. The Trojan queen acknowledges her inability ever to become reconciled with her daughter’s loss. But Hekabe is always a queen and her status dictates a certain conduct; immediately after admitting to her deep grief (589-90), she finds relief in her daughter’s nobility (591-2). As Mossman notes (n. 19, 1995, 119), ‘Here Hecuba . . . is in two minds: she is torn between irrepressible grief . . . and pride in her nobility.’ That this is an unmatchable blow of misfortune for Hecuba is evident from what the queen says earlier to Talthybius, who has just announced Polyxena’s death (511-14):
Hecuba’s unparalleled pathos is revealed (a) through her παρὰ προσδοκίαν response; the option of her being sacrificed was categorically ruled out earlier in the play (cf. 389-90: οὐ σ’, ὦ γεραιά, κατθανεῖν Ἀχιλλέως/φάντασμ’ Ἀχαιοὺς ἀλλὰ τήνδ’ ᾐτήσατο); and (b) through her self-description as childless; her other surviving children (Cassandra, Helenus) do not suffice to recompense for Polyxena’s loss. It is within such a state of mind that Hecuba utters οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην ἐξαλείψασθαι φρενὸς τὸ σὸν πάθος. The alternative option οὐκ ἂν ἐξαλείψαιμι would be roughly equal to the actual text only syntactically, but not at all semantically, since it would misrepresent the implications intended for the audience. For this is not a simple thought incidentally spoken by Hecuba, but rather a profound assertion that provides insight into her inner world. The sorrow is unbearable for the queen; this is a given. Euripides’ artistry is revealed by the fact that he manages – through the usage of the potential optative – not only to highlight her grief further, but also to anticipate the unremitting effect of this pathos in the future. Instead, a straightforward and plain οὐ δύναμαι would merely assign an ephemeral effect to the feeling.
Later in the play Hecuba employs the same expression in relation to her material inability to provide her dead daughter with the proper funeral rites (609-17):
Hecuba, mourning her daughter, faces yet another issue that causes her distress: her material incapacity to adorn her daughter’s corpse as she deserves (ὡς μὲν ἀξία) and accomplish the proper funerary rites.Footnote 21 Though there is no definite implied protasis, ‘under these circumstances (that is, of slavery)’ is again felt as an appropriate supplement. Here οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην can be understood as being complemented by the infinitives λοῦσαι and/or προθῆσθαι. The emotional atmosphere is very intense, for Hecuba’s material incapacity is excruciating since it brings shame and dishonour on both herself and her dead daughter. Observe Hecuba’s consecutive usage of colloquialisms: πόθεν; and τί γὰρ πάθω;.Footnote 22 The Trojan queen experiences utmost grief and despair, for not only has she been deprived of her daughter, but she also realises that she does not have the capacity to offer her what she deserves. The syntactic pattern of οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην is employed in order to bring out more vividly Hecuba’s helplessness and desolation, as despair and shame are propelled upwards along the pathos-scale.
Further on in the play, Hecuba seeks to secure Agamemnon’s assistance in her plan to take revenge from Polymestor (749-51):
The overriding emotion here is the desire for vengeance, which has now been added to Hecuba’s grief. The implied protasis here is more specific: ‘if Agamemnon were not to help’. In contriving her plan to take revenge on Polymestor,Footnote 23 Hecuba acknowledges the crucial role of Agamemnon’s assistance. Euripides’ adroit use of this stereotypical syntax brings out Hecuba’s real and undeniable inability to act on her own and to embark alone on a venture that means so much for her. Upon the outcome of this scheme rest not only Hecuba’s hopes for vengeance, but also the continuation of the plot. Right at the moment when Hecuba’s desire for vengeance becomes overpowering and the play needs to move forward, the negative potential optative precisely illustrates Hecuba’s acknowledgement of her own incapacity as well as Agamemnon’s indispensable role in the accomplishment of her plan of vengeance.
Next, when Polymestor arrives at Hecuba’s tent, she avoids eye-contact with him (968-72):
This is another instance when Hecuba’s emotional status is of extreme tension. The implied protasis here is equivalent to ‘under these circumstances’. At the sight of her most hated enemy, the killer of her son, Hecuba is understandably overwhelmed by an irresistible desire for retribution and the yearning to fall upon him instantly. The only way to control herself is to avoid looking him directly in the eye;Footnote 24 hence she feigns shame and embarrassment by lowering her eyes.Footnote 25 The potential optative functions on two levels here. On one level it enables Hecuba to simulate present and future modesty and humiliation in front of Polymestor; on a second level it genuinely expresses the queen’s inability to look the Thracian king in the eye and still do nothing, at a moment when her wayward emotions risk compromising her entire scheme.Footnote 26
The last instance of οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην in Hecuba is uttered by Agamemnon, when he is summoned to judge Polymestor’s killing of Polydorus (1247-51):
Here it is Agamemnon’s emotions that reach a climax before the monstrous deed of ξενοκτονία committed by Polymestor. The implied protasis is the vigorous notion of ‘in any circumstances’. One possibility of complementing οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην is the infinitive φύγειν (ψόγον), meaning that Agamemnon could not possibly escape blame. Alternatively, the following syntax is also valid: οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην κρῖναι σε μὴ ἀδικεῖν, meaning that Agamemnon could not envisage the possibility of acquitting Polymestor, an interpretation that credits the Achaean king with a more profound moral sense, rather than with the mere worry that he could not escape blame for his judgment. Though both interpretations are valid, I am tempted to adopt the latter. Agamemnon clearly experiences revulsion and horror at Polymestor’s deed, which offended both human nature and Greek custom. Hence, he employs the negative potential optative as a way of explicitly conveying the absolute unthinkability of ever justifying or rationalising Polymestor’s crime. The thought of acquitting Polymestor is so abhorrent to Agamemnon that he can liken it to a task impossible to undertake.
The Suppliant Women (c. 423 BC)Footnote 27
The expression οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην is employed by Theseus, when he expresses his skepticism about the possibility that someone might give a perfectly accurate account of a battle (846-56):
It has often been argued that Euripides – through Theseus – practises literary criticism of Aeschylus’ detailed accounts of battle in his Seven against Thebes.Footnote 28 Evidently, Theseus’ chief feelings here are disbelief, skepticism and, arguably, even cynicism. That these feelings are intense is made evident by the fact that he devotes ten lines to expatiate on and vindicate his conviction that no one can perceive clearly – let alone remember to chronicle afterwards – what is going on during the chaos of battle and in its deadly environment. This, Theseus argues, is materially impossible; therefore, he considers it equally impossible that he could ever either ask for such a narration (ἐρωτῆσαι) or believe one (πιθέσθαι) when he listens to it. ‘In any circumstances’ would be the meaning of the implied protasis. The negative potential optative marks the king’s present and – infinitely – future firm attitude on this issue. Instead, what Theseus needs to hear is the origin of their prowess (841-2): πόθεν ποθ᾿ οἵδε διαπρεπεῖς εὐψυχίᾳ/θνητῶν ἔφυσαν (‘how did it happen that these men were so superior to other men in bravery’). This is again a culminating moment in the play; that is, just before Adrastus’ funeral speech (857-917), in which Adrastus eulogises the dead, focusing on their civic conscience, and thus reflecting Theseus’ eulogy of the polis in the first half of the play (mainly lines 349-441).Footnote 29
Heracles (416 BC)
In this play we are able to discern clearly the difference between the implications engendered by δύναμαι in the potential optative and δύναμαι in the indicative. Early in the play the chorus bewails the imminent death of Heracles’ wife and children at the hands of Lycus (449-50): δακρύων ὡς οὐ δύναμαι κατέχειν/γραίας ὄσσων ἔτι πηγάς (‘I cannot check the tears flowing from my old eyes’). The present tense and indicative mood reflect reality straightforwardly: the old men of Thebes are indeed weeping. Later in the play, after Heracles’ abominable act has been accomplished, Theseus stirs Heracles up and urges him to cease his lamentations (1394-7):
The accompanying infinitive to be understood after οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην is ἀνίστασθαι, and the implied protasis is ‘whatever were to happen’. Heracles is utterly shattered and devastated. The shock has left him paralysed; he wishes he could turn into insensible stone.Footnote 30 Again, the expression οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην ἀνίστασθαι entails both present and future repercussions. Heracles is currently in a state of shock, unable to move his limbs. At the same time, the potential optative designates Heracles’ inability to picture himself ever again regaining his former energy and joie de vivre. The present sorrow will haunt him ever after; and this is also reflected in what he thinks a little earlier about keeping or letting go of his weapons (1377-82):
By uttering οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην (ἀνίστασθαι) in line 1395 Heracles acknowledges and – most importantly – confesses to himself both his overwhelming sorrow and his inability to imagine how he could ever go on with his life. The tone of his statement is different from the Chorus’ earlier οὐ δύναμαι δακρύων κατέχειν, the effect of which died away soon after its utterance. On the contrary, in line 1395 the elaborate syntax resulting from the adept usage of negative potential optative drives Heracles’ grief ad infinitum.
Iphigenia among the Taurians (c. 414-412 BC)
Iphigenia exclaims οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην as she realizes that she cannot perform voluntarily the same appalling act she has been coerced to perform in the barbaric land: the act of killing. In lines 1020-3 Orestes suggests that they should eliminate Thoas:
Iphigenia experiences revulsion for and abhorrence at Orestes’ suggestion. The accompanying infinitive to be understood is διολέσαι (τὸν τύραννον) or, else, ξενοφονεῖν. The implied protasis can be easily supplied from Orestes’ words: εἰ σώσει (that is, ‘even if killing Thoas were to save us’). ‘It was not the Athenian custom to disguise hatred’,Footnote 31 and we have no reason to doubt Iphigenia’s unwillingness to slay the local king. It is important to remember that the task assigned to her was to have victims prepared for sacrifice; cf. line 40 and especially line 53: κἀγὼ τέχνην τήνδ᾿ ἣν ἔχω ξενοκτόνον (‘and I have this office of killing foreigners’). Yet, she accomplished it against her will. Hence, even though assisting her brother in killing Thoas would comply with the Greek moral view of ‘helping friends and harming enemies’,Footnote 32 Iphigenia rejects the thought of willingly performing this appalling act, an act that evokes barbaric associations for her (31, 35-40). Ξενοφονεῖν, that is, what Orestes suggests they should now do (1021), is what Iphigenia has been doing in Tauris for some time (τέχνην ξενοκτόνον); and this she cannot do, not anymore and not of her own will. Yet she praises Orestes’ bravery and courage (τὸ δὲ πρόθυμον ᾔνεσα). But she realizes that she would never have been able to carry out a murder willingly – even if this could have meant her own and her brother’s salvation. Again, the effect of this stereotypical phrase spans both present and future time.
Orestes (408 BC)
The speaker here is Electra, who denies Helen the favour of carrying an offering to Clytemnestra’s tomb (104-5):
Six days have gone by since Electra and Orestes have slaughtered Clytemnestra and Aegisthus. Ever since, Orestes has been withdrawn, impassive. Electra’s grief is equally inexpressible; for she cannot even confront the possibility of visiting and laying eyes upon her mother’s tomb. The implied protasis that can be discerned here is ‘if I were to take the offerings to the tomb’. Again, we may attempt to compress Electra’s periphrasis to: οὐκ ἂν ἐσβλέψαιμι μητρὸς τάφον. Nevertheless, it is needless to say that this alternative equals the original text only syntactically, and certainly not on the level of meaning and style. It is a deliberate strategy on Euripides’ part that Electra employs this phraseology, for this phraseology has concrete impli-cations on Electra’s character (ἦθος). She is of royal blood; she has been wronged by her royal family; and she has in turn wronged this royal family of hers. Her grief is immeasurable and, certainly, beyond what could possibly be endured by humans. Hence, Electra, in replying to Helen, unreservedly admits her pathos; at the same time she does admit her incapacity ever to be able to handle it, since she cannot bear to look upon the most conspicuous manifestation of this grief, Clytemnestra’s grave.Footnote 33
Bacchae (405 BC)
In this play οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην occurs twice. In lines 272-4 the seer Teiresias, addressing Pentheus, says the following with reference to Dionysus:
Pentheus has just concluded his speech (215-62), in which he delivered an irate invective against Dionysus as well as against both Cadmus and Teiresias on account of their disgraceful – according to his judgment – behaviour; the two old men have dressed up in full maenadic gear, wearing fawnskins and carrying a thyrsos. Teiresias employs οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην in his consequent agonisticFootnote 34 reply to Pentheus, with the implied protasis bearing the meaning of ‘in any circumstances’. Seaford describes this syntax as a ‘rhetorical device, notably an expression of inadequacy to the theme’.Footnote 35 Though I do not disagree with this assessment, I wish to focus on Teiresias’ current emotional state. Pentheus, in lines 215-62, had unashamedly defied the new god and his supremacy; thus, he abused religious feeling and offended an existing religious reality, thus violating essential moral norms. In so doing he committed ὕβρις (for which τίσις shall follow later). Teiresias then experiences an overpowering sorrow, which is augmented because of his role as a seer. This sweeping emotion leads him to defend the new god earnestly. Speaking in a temperate and orderly manner (unlike Pentheus’ fuming tirade), Teiresias exalts and eulogises Dionysus (266-327). It is noteworthy that, immediately after he has uttered the words quoted above, in which he admits (using οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην) his inability to fully explain the grandeur of this new god, Teiresias nonetheless attempts to do so and proceeds to establish Dionysus and Demeter as the duo indispensable to human existence (274-85). Teiresias, like all other Euripidean characters, finds himself in a devastating emotional situation. His religious beliefs have been mocked and challenged and his religious feelings have been offended. But, as he attempts to defend the new deity, he recognises his inability and his inadequacy to do so effectively, because of the immensity and grandeur of his subject: that is, because of Dionysus’ overriding supremacy, the extent and dimensions of which are hard to apprehend – let alone to explain. The use of the stereo-typical pattern of the negative potential optative allows Teiresias to come as close as possible to expressing his feeling of helplessness, as he envisages with awe the incredible greatness of Dionysus.
Later in the Bacchae Pentheus too employs οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην, in the scene where Dionysus dresses him as a maenad (834-6):
By now Pentheus has lost his former aggression. Although he agrees to be led by Dionysus to the mountains to watch the maenads, he still refuses to put on female dress; cf. 822: τί δὴ τόδ’; ἐς γυναῖκας ἐξ ἀνδρὸς τελῶ; (‘What is this? Am I from being a man to join the category of women?’), and 828: τίνα στολήν; ἦ θῆλυν; ἀλλ’ αἰδώς μ’ ἔχει (‘In what dress? Female? But I feel shame’). After these two expressions of reluctance, Pentheus’ resistance culminates in line 836: οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην θῆλυν ἐνδῦναι στολήν (with the implied protasis being ‘if you were to give me female clothes’). His emotions of despair and shame (828: αἰδώς μ’ ἔχει) culminate too – and unpre-cedentedly so – and for a while he cannot even picture the possibility of his being dressed as a woman. This moment when Pentheus’ resistance reaches its peak before irreversibly collapsing is outstandingly conveyed by Euripides through the negative potential optative. Immediately afterwards Pentheus unconditionally yields to Dionysus (838: ὀρθῶς) and consents to his external transformation into a maenad by accepting a thyrsos and a fawnskin. This external change marks and intensifies his internal change too, that is, his change of mental state.Footnote 36 As noted above, this instance and Medea 1044 (cf. ad loc.) are the only two cases where the infinite duration implied by οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην is abruptly cut short and the act initially imagined as unattainable is carried out within the play, as the characters experience a radical and unparalleled change of mental state.
The last example of οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην occurs in Euripides incertum fr. 899 K.:
The fragment is quoted partly by Athenaeus 15.665a and partly by Plutarch Mor. 502b-d. As Plutarch tells us, the passage was originally addressed πρὸς τὸν ἀσύνετον ἀκροατήν (‘to the witless hearer’). Though fragmentary, the logic behind this passage is the same as in all other cases. The protasis is explicitly stated: εἰ δοίη. Manifestly, the emotions experienced by the speaker are despair, dismay, and resignation, as he acknowledges the improbability of ever being listened to and understood by an uncomprehending audience.
As already observed, Euripides’ usage of οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην remained unexploited by prose. It seems that it remained so by the comic genre too. This is rather surprising, given comedy’s vigorous engagement with tragedy, at various levels.Footnote 37 Even Aristophanes, whose intertextuality with Euripides has been remarked on widely and summarised by Cratinus’ coinage εὐριπιδαριστοφανίζων (fr. 342),Footnote 38 does not make any allusion to this Euripidean expression. An appropriate place to do so would have been in the Frogs, where Euripides’ experimentation with words is brought to the foreground (for example, lines 956-8 and 971-9).Footnote 39
Within Comedy, οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην occurs eight times: Phrynichus fr. 73, Anaxandrides fr. 40, Eubulus fr. 88, Sopater fr. 1, and four times in Menander: Dys. 145, 444, Epit. 499, and Misumenos 609 Arn. The first of these poets, Phrynichus, was a rough contemporary of Euripides; he is believed to have produced his first play in the mid to late 430s or early 420s (cf. T2, K-A VII.393). Fr. 73 is an incertum and we have no means of dating it. The speaker’s absurd preoccupation is that he has lost his molars and he will not be able to crack Naxian almonds any longer. In fr. 40 by Anaxandrides (Middle Comedy) the speaker (an Athenian) dreads the possibility of an alliance with the Egyptians because of their weird customs.Footnote 40 In Eubulus fr. 88 the discussion is unsurprisingly (since this is Middle Comedy) about food: the speaker says he cannot eat anything else, for he has had his share (of spring onions) at a hetaira’s place (there may be an erotic subtext here). In SopaterFootnote 41 fr. 1 the speaker speaks disdainfully of bread made of lentils, which he refuses to eat whilst looking at a bronze colossal statue. Within the surviving Menandrean corpus οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην occurs four times: in Dyscolus 145-6 Sostratus admits his inability to confront Cnemon with arguments; in Dyscolus 443-4 Cnemon acknowledges he cannot leave his house unattended; in Epitrepontes 499-500 Habrotonon refuses to help Onesimus discover who the mother of the baby is before she knows the father’s identity; and in Misoumenos 609 (Arn.) Crateia tells her nurse she cannot be patient or endure something – the text is largely lacunose.
One may argue that Phrynichus, Anaxandrides, Eubulus, Sopater, and Menander came up with this expression (οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην + infinitive) independently. This is a fairly reasonable argument since no concrete intertextual relation with Euripides can be established. On the other hand, this expression was obviously not, at least at the beginning, an intuitive syntactic structure that a poet would spontaneously use (in poetry, at least) when he just needed to express the common notion of ‘I cannot do something’. If this were the case, Aeschylus, Sophocles, and the other tragic poets would have inadvertently used it, and repeatedly so – before Euripides. Even Euripides would have used it more often in any given context. The fact that it appears only in carefully selected passages where emotions are running high, suggests that this structure was purposely coined and implanted there. Besides, there is a slight difference between how Menander uses this expression and how Phrynichus, Anaxandrides, Eubulus, and Sopater use it. In these four poets there is, arguably, a – more or less easily – detectable notion of grotesque juxtaposition of something grand with something trivial, whilst an emotion of some kind can also be traced (for example, anger and despair in Phrynichus; disgust and horror in Anaxandrides), and/or the speaker may sound preposterous and be credited with bombastic and/or (fake) solemn style (as in Sopater).Footnote 42 On the contrary, in Menander οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην nowhere engenders (fake) solemnity nor does it aim to combine grandeur in preposterous fashion with trivialities; and the context – emotional and other – is fairly moderate. Nevertheless, all in all, and given the absence of any substantial evidence strongly suggesting that the comic occurrences of οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην were influenced by Euripides, I would refrain from taking the argument any further until new evidence is unearthed.
To conclude, in this article I have attempted to highlight and analyse a distinct feature of Euripides’ groundbreaking writing technique: the intro-duction of the expression οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην into the linguistic register of tragedy and the exclusive usage of it solely by himself. This expression brings together metrical convenience, elaborate syntax, and conspicuous content in a unique combination. The present tense negative potential optative is a semantically rich – almost excessive – mode, in the sense that its area of reference covers both the present and the – infinite – future. To this powerful and wide-ranging time dimension, the verb δύναμαι is added, which embraces a broad spectrum of connotations that can be substantially richer than simply ‘I can’ or ‘I am able to’. The verb δύναμαι has the potential to lay emphatic stress on the notion of vigorous strength/power, which can represent the ability to transcend typical human norms and boundaries. Accordingly, in the sixteen Euripidean cases which have been examined here, the verb δύναμαι designates remarkable emotional (and also mental, at times) power/capability of enduring (or not) great suffering and other over-whelming emotions. The unprecedented combination of the particular mood with the particular verb reveals Euripides’ acute linguistic sense and his sharp perception of a language’s subtle meanings and its tones. This syntactic structure, employed as a stereotypical phrase by Euripides, generates semantic parameters of what exceeds human nature; of what is humanly unthinkable and/or unachievable because of either the speaker’s lack of spirit, the subject’s grandeur and immensity, or material reasons that pose insurmountable obstacles to the accomplishment of a task. As we might expect, the individuals involved in such situations experience devastatingly intense emotions that range from hatred and loathing to agonising grief and despair. Euripides has fittingly designated his most exceptional characters (individuals of royal descent, heroes, and a seer) as the only ones who could meet such emotional challenges and who thus complement – with the majesty of their status – the grand picture of extraordinary suffering which has been conceived and dramatised by this poet of tragedy.
