In the novel, the elderly Roman statesman Cocceius Nerva is asked by Emperor Tiberius to draft a new constitution for the Roman State. He struggles with the impossibility of the task of writing laws which might possibly restrain the unlimited powers of the tyrant. In his helplessness, looking for clues, he reads in bed a political dialogue of Cicero. Symbolically, he will never finish: it is his deathbed scene.

However, there could be another tiny island, unreal on a real island, totally imaginary, on the Fibrenus River in Lacium. And they would probably say instead of “Fibrenus”—our “Fibrenetto.” A clump of greenery surrounded by fresh water. One would walk over a wooden bridge from the Arpinatio Forest. From under the tall poplars into the alder. And there it would be, over the bridge: the island.

There would be decorations there, of course, in the Platonic convention. But nature would remain in the Arpinatian style, the little fatherland of Cicero. Poplars. The shade of these trees. The chirping of birds. Hot summer.

There will be stage direction—there is nothing more pleasant. At this point, Fribrenetto, split as if by the prow of a ship, divides into two equal streams, which flow around the islet on both sides, and then quickly merge into one current again, and thus surround enough ground sufficient for a small palestra. Having formed this island, the river, as if it had only this one purpose—to provide us with a suitable ground for discussion—flows immediately into the Lyris River, where it exchanges its unfamous name for a better one, like an upstart adopted into a patrician family.

Would there be a small palestra? For exercise, bathing, lectures, and conversations? Or an orchestra? For theatrical performances?

And there would be people there:

Marcus (Tulius Cicero), an intellectual, politician, and a Stoic by conviction. He was murdered when Tiberius was two years old. Author of On the Laws.

Atticus (Titus Pomponius), known mainly as the addressee of letters written by Cicero, a political observer, financier, sponsor of art, Epicurean. He committed suicide when Tiberius was fourteen.

Quintus (Tulius Cicero), younger brother and admirer of Marcus and a high-ranking officer with Julius Caesar in Gaul, temporarily visiting with his brother. After the murder of the Divine Julius, he too was killed, the first of the Cicero brothers, long before Marcus. Tiberius was then one year old.

And now it is time for a performance before Cocceius Nerva.

A show or a radio play?

The curtain rises.

Marcus (then still alive) begins another lecture:

“So, as I was saying, I will follow in the footsteps of the divine thinker, whom, perhaps through an excess of admiration, I praise more often than necessary.”

Atticus:

“You’re talking about Plato, of course.”

Marcus:

“Indeed, Atticus.”

Atticus:

“But you don’t praise him too much or too often. Even my Epicureans, who never praise anyone but their own, nevertheless allow me to adore him.”

Marcus:

“And, thank goodness, they do right. For what is more worthy of your refined intellect? In my opinion, your whole life, style and message, have made you a very rare combination of authority and nobility.”

Atticus:

“I’m glad to take your word for it since you offer such extraordinary witness of me. But now, please continue what you started.”

Marcus:

“Would you, then, praise the existence of civil law as such?”

Atticus:

“Of course. Just as you praised the existence of the laws of religion.”

Marcus:

“Well, then, look here: the power of an office consists in that someone is required to direct something by issuing just and practical decisions or regulations in accordance with the laws. As laws are above the officials, so officials are above the society, and it may be really said that the official is the law speaking, and the law is a mute official. Now, nothing is more necessary for law and order (and when I say this, please understand that I mean legislation) than power. For without power, no house, no state, no nation, not even the human race, no entity of any sort, not even the world itself can function”.

The cry of a seagull, more similar to the barking of a dog than to the chirping of the birds of theArpinatus, reminds Cocceius Nerva that he is with Tiberius in Kapreai, looking through Cicero’s On the Laws and not at the family estate of the great classic of eighty years before, participating in the creation of the canons of Roman law. However, he wishes he were. He feels called upon to play a similar role now. There was a reason why he was invited by the First Citizen to Kapreai. By the way, that’s the correct title: the First Citizen. It should be enshrined in legislation. Let us be done with the divinities. Fortunately, Tiberius does not intend to become divine like the other Caesars before him—Julius and Augustus. (If Cocceius Nerva understands him well, which is not easy). Tiberius wants to justify his power only by the tradition established by his predecessors and the law. Cocceius Nerva has to help him. Because no one seems to understand this desire of the First Citizen.

Quintus:

“In your presentation, brother, you gave us a very concise description of all the Roman offices and, indeed, of the whole state apparatus, although you added some new elements of your own.”

Marcus:

“How correct you are, Quintus.”

What is hard to take in Cicero, thinks Cocceius, is this constant agreement of everyone with everyone and the constant approval of all of the lecturer’s statements. But, of course, this style does not come out of nowhere. It comes from Plato, and people familiar with his philosophical literature are well acquainted with this type of dialectic. Cocceius does not like Plato very much, just as he does not share many of Cicero’s outdated ideas. It is clear that the legal theories of the old republic have to be updated, adapted to the new political reality. The world has changed.

However, some ideas of Cicero, and especially their Platonic sources, must be enshrined in the new legal theory which the resident Cocceius is instructed to create under the benevolent patronage of the First Citizen. As for Plato, no reasonable person thinks to question the authority of the Greek philosopher. Especially in Kapreai, given the influence of that other resident here, Thrasyllus.

Where is that thought of Cicero concerning the equal legal incompetence of the people and the tyrants? Cocceius remembers it. Oh, yes, that passage was earlier:

Marcus:

“Indeed, the notion that all laws, either customary or passed by various assemblies of the people, are just is a height of folly. What about tyrants’ ordinances? If the famous “thirty” of Athens wanted to give the city a constitution, and even if all the Athenians accepted such a tyrannical constitution, should those laws have been considered just?”

No one raises objections to the speaker’s theses, notes Cocceius. Cicero’s criticism of the irresponsible conduct of the people was praised by Quintus, a strong opponent of the anarchic follies of the commoners. In turn, the financial potentate, a long-time happy resident of Athens and a genius of political opportunism, the Epicurean Atticus, who elegantly passed over Cicero’s successive conclusions in silence—a sign of consent—was undoubtedly captivated by his defense of Athenian democracy. No wonder. This concerns certain fundamental principles, still valid today, recognizes Cocceius. They sound good. He will be able to refer to this in his memorandum for the First Citizen. Naturally, with all the extended context. Only in the section concerning tyrants is it necessary to define certain ideas more clearly. Cicero was, of course, a republican: he paid for the republican overthrow of Julius Caesar with his own life. Yes, but there is no Roman legal doctrine without Cicero. Tiberius will understand this. If, according to the vision of the First Citizen, the new system is to be based on the tradition of the ancestors, Cicero, though a supporter of the republic, but a wise man nevertheless and aware of the shortcomings of democracy, is indispensable in the matter of legal theory.

What do they go on to say on that island of theirs?

Marcus:

“If the decisions of the people, the ordinances of rulers, or the opinions of individual judges were to constitute law, robbery, adultery, and the forgery of wills would easily become legal. As long as some decisions are decreed, adopted by a majority of votes, or passed at public rallies. But if so, then the opinions and decisions of fools matter, and their will can overturn the order of nature. Why, one might as well legislate that everything that is unjust and dishonest is legal and proper! And if it is possible by such a statute to make a right out of wrong, why should it not likewise make alleged good out of all evil?”

(They’ve gone too far. The great Cicero was too much of a philosopher than is proper for a lawyer. His syllogisms lead to the absurd. Philosophy cannot be made into law. Law must be practical.)

Marcus:

“One should bear in mind the highest good and do everything to achieve it, although as to what it is, there is no agreement among scholars, but rather a lot of contradictory opinions. However, sometimes a decision has to be made despite the lack of clarity.”

Atticus:

“But how to do it, since Lucius Gellius is dead?”

Marcus:

“I’m sorry, what’s he got to do with it?”

Atticus:

“Because you see, I remember hearing from my friend Phaedrus in Athens how Gellius, a man you know, came to Greece as a proconsul after the end of his consulate, found himself in Athens, and summoned to his palace all the philosophers who were there at that time. And then he fervently urged them that perhaps for once, they might come to an agreement on something. If only they decided, he said, that they would prefer not to waste their lives in polemics and quarrels, he was ready to contribute to the settling of their differences. He promised to spare no effort if he could somehow mediate between them.”

Marcus:

“That is a funny story, Pomponius, and it has made many laugh. But, personally, I would like to be appointed as just such a mediator between the schools of philosophy.”

And, of course, the brilliant Cicero would! And how! He would even be eager to do it, this Stoic, who yet knew no measure in conceit. The question is whether an anecdote as delicious as this can be related to Tiberius at the table. Perhaps it can. Although… on the other hand… Tiberius, when he was still in Rhodes, was said to have had an unpleasant clash with some philosopher. He behaved then a bit like this Gellius in Athens. Perhaps it would be better not to raise the question of the relationship between power and philosophy at all?

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