What has eluded Combellack, however, is that this same idiom can occur in situations where the wish introduced by εἰ γάρ or the variants αἲ γάρ and εἴθε is clearly not perceived as impossible by the speaker. For example, the disguised Odysseus has this to say to Eumaios:

Clearly, it is not impossible that Eumaios should be dear to Zeus. The implication seems to be that he probably is, and this probability is reinforced by the certainly of Odysseus’ premise: that Eumaios is dear to Odysseus. In this connection, we may observe what Priam says ironically about Achilles: αἲθε θεοῖσι φίλος τοσσόνδε γένοιτο ὅσσον ἐμοί ‘If only he would be dear to the gods as much as he is to me!’ (Iliad XXII 41-42).

The idiom under consideration is frequently found in prayers, as when Telemachus exclaims:

Clearly, someone who prays is not contrasting the impossibility of his wish with the certainty of a situation (as Combellack’s concept of the idiom would require); rather, he is appealing to this certainty as grounds for hope that the wish be fulfilled.

At times the premise for the wish is the immediate context itself, to which the speaker can refer with but one word, such as οὕτως ‘so’ = ‘just as surely as what has happened in this context’. Thus when the suitor Antinoos strikes the disguised Odysseus, Penelope responds to this outrage by saying: αἲθ’ οὕτως αὐτόν σε βάλοι κλυτότοξος Ἀπόλλων ‘If only Apollo, famed for his bow, would strike you just as surely [as you struck Odysseus]!’ (Odyssey xvii 494). Penelope’s prayer is then {297|298} seconded by Eurynome: εἰ γάρ ἐπ’ ἀρῇσιν τέλος ἡμετέρῃσι γένοιτο ‘If only our prayers would be accomplished!’ (xvii 496). The expression ‘our prayers’ here refers to those of Penelope and Eurynome combined, as formalized in these two one-line versions of the idiom under study. Again, the idiom is being used to express a wish that is intended as possible, not impossible.

In one instance, a speaker uses a curtailed form of the idiom and then overtly says that his wish is impossible—only to be corrected by another speaker who uses a full form. Telemachus wishes that the gods could give him the dúnamis ‘power’ to kill the suitors (αἲ γάρ ἐμοὶ τοσσήνδε θεοὶ δύναμιν περιθεῖεν Odyssey iii 205); then, instead of giving a premise as grounds of hope, he gives up hope by claiming that the gods have granted such a power neither to him nor to his father (208-209). At this point Nestor responds by resorting to a full form of the idiom:

This time there is indeed a premise, there is reason to hope: if Athena does love you this much, Nestor is telling Telemachus, then the suitors will indeed be killed (223-224).

By building on something that is perceived as certain in order to wish for something that is less certain, it is also possible to extend a specific observation into a general one. One of the suitors, for example, makes the following ironic remark about the disguised Odysseus as the hero prepares to string the bow:

The words are meant ironically, but the real irony is at the expense of the speaker. He wishes general failure for the stranger on the hasis of what he expects to he the stranger’s specific failure in not being able to {298|299} string the bow. Instead, Odysseus will achieve a specific success with the bow and general success against the suitors. For another example, I cite what Agamemnon imagines a Trojan would say ironically, if Menelaos were killed:

In this imaginary situation the Trojan is entertaining the possibility of general failure for Agamemnon on the basis of one specific failure.

There are times when the hyperbole achieved with this idiom reaches the point of hybris. Such seems to be the case with the words spoken by Odysseus to the Cyclops after the hero has blinded the monster. If only I could kill yon, says Odysseus to Cyclops, as surely as your father Poseidon will not restore your eyesight (Odyssey ix 523-525)! The hybristic reality of blinding the son of a god who is antagonistic to the hero is the basis for the even more hybristic wish of actually killing him. Similarly, in the first two passages that we have considered, Hektor can actually entertain the possibility of becoming a god himself on the basis of his certainty that he is about to destroy the Achaean expedition. The first time that Hektor uses the idiom under study, he is expressing his certainty that, come next morning, he will defeat the Achaeans, most notably Diomedes (Iliad VIII 526-538); the second time, he is expressing the same certainty, although the focus of his attention has now shifted from Diomedes to Ajax (XIII 829-832). Of course, the perceived reality of Hektor’s premise is at odds with the reality of the narrative: Hektor will not succeed in killing Diomedes or Ajax, nor for that matter will he succeed in repelling the Achaeans from Troy. Therefore, his hybristic wish to be a god is built on a premise of self-delusion, and its wording becomes an extended exercise in self-delusion. Since Hektor is speaking, we have no right to impose the reality of the narrative on Hektor’s perception of reality: for him the wish to be a god is not contrary to fact, and it would be better for us to abandon the decidedly contrary-to-fact translations “If only I were immortal…” and “If only I were the child of aegis-bearing Zeus…” for VIII 538 and XIII 825, substituting something more neutral: “If only I could be immortal…” and “If only I could be the child of aegis-bearing Zeus. …”

For me this idiom, especially in the last example, serves as a metaphor for the Hellenization of Indo-European social ideology. If we may equate Hellenism with the ideal, the wish-fulfillment of human progress, then the Indo-European heritage of the Greek language, as an incomplete reflection of the past and the here-and-now, is a premise for that fulfillment. {301|302}