406.  ANTONIO—­I know that you can give me those wings, like another Daedalus, so that I may emerge from the prison of ignorance, and rise to the very region of truth, which is the homeland of souls.  The books that I have seen have not satisfied me, not even the famous Boethius, who meets with general approval.  I know not whether he fully understood himself what he says of God’s understanding, and of eternity superior to time; and I ask for your opinion on his way of reconciling foreknowledge with freedom.  LAURENT—­I am fearful of giving offence to many people, if I confute this great man; yet I will give preference over this fear to the consideration I have for the entreaties of a friend, provided that you make me a promise.  ANT.—­What?  LAUR.—­It is, that when you have dined with me you do not ask me to give you supper, that is to say, I desire that you be content with the answer to the question you have put to me, and do not put a further question.

407.  ANT.—­I promise you.  Here is the heart of the difficulty.  If God foresaw the treason of Judas, it was necessary that he should betray, it was impossible for him not to betray.  There is no obligation to do the impossible.  He therefore did not sin, he did not deserve to be punished.  That destroys justice and religion, and the fear of God.  LAUR.—­God foresaw sin; but he did not compel man to commit it; sin is voluntary.  ANT.—­That will was necessary, since it was foreseen.  LAUR.—­If my knowledge does not cause things past or present to exist, neither will my foreknowledge cause future things to exist.

408.  ANT.—­That comparison is deceptive:  neither the present nor the past can be changed, they are already necessary; but the future, movable in itself, becomes fixed and necessary through foreknowledge.  Let us [367] pretend that a god of the heathen boasts of knowing the future:  I will ask him if he knows which foot I shall put foremost, then I will do the opposite of that which he shall have foretold.  LAUR.—­This God knows what you are about to do.  ANT.—­How does he know it, since I will do the opposite of what he shall have said, and I suppose that he will say what he thinks?  LAUR.—­Your supposition is false:  God will not answer you; or again, if he were to answer you, the veneration you would have for him would make you hasten to do what he had said; his prediction would be to you an order.  But we have changed the question.  We are not concerned with what God will foretell but with what he foresees.  Let us therefore return to foreknowledge, and distinguish between the necessary and the certain.  It is not impossible for what is foreseen not to happen; but it is infallibly sure that it will happen.  I can become a Soldier or Priest, but I shall not become one.

409.  ANT.—­Here I have you firmly held.  The philosophers’ rule maintains that all that which is possible can be considered as existing.  But if that which you affirm to be possible, namely an event different from what has been foreseen, actually happened, God would have been mistaken.  LAUR.—­The rules of the philosophers are not oracles for me.  This one in particular is not correct.  Two contradictories are often both possible.  Can they also both exist?  But, for your further enlightenment, let us pretend that Sextus Tarquinius, coming to Delphi to consult the Oracle of Apollo, receives the answer: