ABSTRACT
Plato also writes, in a different context, about a certain Zalmoxis, a Thracian, but an expert in the same art, that “there is a certain mental therapy in incantations, and that incantations consist of beautiful words.” If this is so, why should I not be permitted to learn the “beautiful words” of Zalmoxis or the priestly traditions of Zoroaster? But if my accusers after the common fashion think of a “magus” primarily as a person who by verbal communications with the immortal gods and through the incredible power of his incantations can perform any miracles he wants, why are they not afraid to accuse a man who, as they admit themselves, has such powers? For there is no protection against such a mysterious, such a divine, power as there is against other things. If you summon a murderer before a judge, you come with a bodyguard; if you charge a poisoner, you take special precautions with your food; if you accuse a thief, you watch your possessions. But if you demand the death penalty for a magus, as they define him, what escort, what special precautions, what guards, can protect you against an unexpected, inevitable catastrophe? None, of course, and so this is not the kind of charge a man who believes in the truth of this sort of thing would make.
