Acknowledgements

This book has had many sources of inspiration over the years, and I have looked forward with pleasure to this moment of public acknowledgement. I first conceived (albeit most dimly) of the improbable, although profound, relationship between Athenian political thought (especially Socratic-Platonic philosophy) and various strands of contemporary theory as an earnest but ignorant student in the classroom of Manfred Henningsen while an undergraduate at the University of Hawaii. Manfred simultaneously introduced me to Greek thought, the critical theory of the Frankfurt School, and French poststructuralism. It is no exaggeration to say that the present volume is the result of my attempt to make sense of that first meeting. To him I owe a lifelong intellectual debt: he kindled in me the wonder at the world that, according to Aristotle, is the beginning of philosophy. Although it has been hard to convince parents, friends, subsequent teachers, and present colleagues that I did more than surf during my years in paradise, the political science department at UH provided then, and continues to provide, an exemplary program in political theory. Manfred Henningsen, Michael Shapiro, Henry Kariel, and (now) Kathy Ferguson can all attest to the fact that thinking and surfing are not mutually exclusive activities. As long as I am mentioning formative intellectual debts, I also wish to thank Adrian Kuzminski, who at the time taught European intellectual history, did not believe in political theory at all, yet humored me anyway. He was then, and continues now to be, a good friend.

Graduate study did little to dampen my enthusiasm for exploring the improbable connection between ancient Athenian thought and contemporary social and political theory. As an undergraduate I had been fortunate enough to have negotiated the theory/science wars of the time by assiduously avoiding political science, while avidly devouring every political theory and philosophy course I could. That fortune stayed with me as a graduate student: political science at UC San Diego had marginalized theory in a department that was fast gaining fame for its program in comparative politics. I was left free to pursue my idea, and my theory teacher there, Tracy Strong, encouraged my endeavors. He also did two other things: he suggested that if I was serious about the Greeks, I ought to learn their language, and then he introduced me to Peter Euben. I spent the next year studying Greek with Elliot Wirshbo and the following quarter (thanks to Strong and Euben) studying Athenian thought (and much more) at UC Santa Cruz. I eventually left San Diego for Santa Cruz, and it was there, through the generosity of Euben, his colleague John Schaar, and the Board of Studies in Politics, that I continued to study both classical and contemporary thought. Seminars with Euben and Schaar in political theory, as well as with David Hoy in philosophy, remain foundational experiences for my present thinking. They also remain the most satisfying and pleasurable intellectual experiences in my memory. These were times and locations where I could freely pursue what was becoming an obviously interdisciplinary project, one that drew on classical studies, political theory, structural anthropology, hermeneutics, critical theory, feminism, and poststructuralism. Fellow and sister graduate students Mark Nechodom, Mark Reinhardt, Rick Zinman, Paige Baty, Steve Rugare, Karen Davis, Mary John, Bruce Bauman, Avram Davis, and Suzanne Reading constituted a vibrant intellectual community throughout my stay at Santa Cruz. These were political thinkers all, not one of them familiar with the methodological niceties and instrumental subtleties of a “data sack” (sic).

At UCSC I continued to read in Greek, with Seth Schein, Gary Miles, and John Lynch, largely dividing my time between Cowell and Kresge Colleges, between Mary Kay Gamel’s fine productions of Greek tragedies and the ultra postmodern performances of Hayden White, Donna Haraway, Jim Clifford, and Teresa de Lauretis. I had found the perfect place either to become schizophrenic or continue work on my project. My “phrens” relatively intact, I eventually did complete a dissertation that vaguely resembled what this book was finally to become. For both of these achievements I wish to thank UC Santa Cruz and Peter Euben. Peter not only convinced me of the importance of Greek tragedy but was an unparallelled intellectual mentor and friend. He remains exemplary for me to this day. I should also thank Peter for indulging my addiction to large quantities of food and drink: never did a more generous host frequent the numerous and excellent restaurants and bars of Santa Cruz. Both Peter and Olga Euben deserve credit for sustaining me intellectually as well as physically during my five years there as a graduate student.

I then took a job in the political science department at the University of Connecticut. Everyone who knows me also knows the extent of my debt to that institution. My colleagues in political theory, Rich Hiskes and Ernie Zirakzadeh, have done more than I shall probably ever know to facilitate my work. They have also provided me with unconditional support. Tom Giolas, director of the University of Connecticut Research Foundation, materially sustained this project from its very beginnings with numerous grants, among them a Junior Faculty Summer Fellowship, which relieved me from teaching at a crucial time during the book’s writing. I am also grateful to Robert Vrecenak, director of the Interlibrary Loan Department, his assistant Lynn Sweet, and all their staff for their tireless and unfailing efforts to procure for me an endless stream of books, articles, and other research materials from around the country. This book would not have been completed without their assistance.

It was in Connecticut that this book took its present form, the last stage in a long metamorphosis that had begun with an inchoate idea, more felt than known, many years previously. I would like to thank Charles Hedrick (whom I did not have the pleasure of knowing at UCSC, since his arrival and my departure coincided) and Thomas Habinek (the editor of Classics and Contemporary Thought, the series in which this book appears), as well as an anonymous reviewer for the University of California Press, for their comments on, and commitment to, the manuscript. Special thanks go to Mark Reinhardt of Williams College, who, since our time together at Santa Cruz, has remained an important intellectual companion and colleague. Much of what is good in this book resulted from lengthy telephone conversations with him. He also read large portions of the manuscript, and the book has benefited immensely because his keen eye saw what was needed when my own vision failed. Most of all, though, I owe a tremendous debt to Joel Schwartz, who read every version of the manuscript with unflagging patience and good cheer. It was his faith in the project that kept it (and me) alive during the desperately cold intellectual winters that regularly traverse northeastern Connecticut. Without his vision, faith and patience, this book would not be in print. Mary Lamprech of the University of California Press deserves abundant praise for her work on this project. She too saw its promise and encouraged me through the most trying stages of revision. She has been everything one can hope for in an editor. I also wish to thank Peter Dreyer, whose expert copyediting saved me from mistakes I was unaware I had committed. A number of graduate students at the University of Connecticut have suffered through the writing of this book as I tested my ideas on them in seminars. Thanks to Catherine Flavin, Steve McDonald, Julie Walsh, John Burns, Amanda Ross, Dave Johnson, Jane O’Neill, Yvonne Davis, Jessica Kulynych, and Carole Steen for stimulating discussions that forced me to be clear and precise.

Throughout the entire writing of this book, my family has provided unfailing love and support. Suzanne Reading has been with me since its beginning, and it is largely on her shoulders that this book has been written. It is customary to acknowledge the support of one’s spouse, “without whom…,” as the saying goes. I have seen no acknowledgments that would do her justice. Suffice it to say that this book was completed because Suzanne Reading agreed to move across a continent (leaving family and friends behind), thereby delaying her own career for the past five years. It is no exaggeration to say that my career has flourished at her expense. This book explores the dynamics of constructing masculine civic space literally on the bodies of women. As material and intellectual object, the book exists because gender inequality and the exploitative wages of university instructors have yet to be righted in a society that insufficiently values women. This situation has produced a debt I doubtless cannot repay in my lifetime. Let us work to repay it in the lifetime of our children. I also owe a debt to our oldest daughter, Rashelle, for having the endless patience to endure with forbearance and even good humor a two-academic family. I can only apologize for the boring dinner conversations over the years (as well as for no television). Sophia, our youngest daughter (and appropriately named), has provided unrelenting relief and inspiration over the past four years. She has taught me firsthand the most important insights of the tragic theater: vulnerability, fragility, the irruption of the unexpected, the contradictoriness of experience, and the irreducible complexity of human life. Gabriella, who is not yet here, but whom we have anticipated for a long time and with great joy, has constantly reminded me of the mysteries of life. I know she will be ready for the world. I can only hope that the world will be ready for her.

I dedicate this book to my parents, Haidee and Frank Rocco, who, in the face of my father’s fight with cancer, have shown remarkable faith, courage, love, and hope. That my father has lived to see the publication of this book is truly the triumph of a heroic spirit. I also dedicate this book to the memory of our daughter Elizabeth Suzanne, who was never destined to see the faces of a mother and father who had so much love to give her. Her untimely death taught us that suffering can, and often does, bring wisdom.