But when my eyes were opened, as I have said, to the fact that a greater number than I supposed had mistaken ideas about me, I began to ponder how I could show to them and to posterity the truth about my character, my life, and the education to which I am devoted, and not suffer myself to be condemned on these issues without a trial nor to remain, as I had just been, at the mercy of my habitual calumniators.
And as I kept thinking upon it, I came ever to the same conclusion, namely, that the only
way in which I could accomplish this was to compose a discourse which would be, as it
were, a true image of my thought and of my whole life; for I hoped that this would serve
both as the best means of making known the truth about me and, at the same time, as a
monument, after my death, more noble than statues of bronze.
I saw, however, that if I were to attempt a eulogy of myself, I should not be able to
cover all the points which I proposed to discuss, nor should I succeed in treating them
without arousing the displeasure or even the envy of my hearers. But it occurred to me
that if I were to adopt the fiction of a trial and of a suit brought against me—if I were
to suppose that a sycophant