mathematical not metaphysical--a storm arose
which no man could govern; for the quarrel
was based on deeper ground than the ostensible
one of whether Aristotle or Socrates
were the best teacher; the true basis being
the assertion of individual will against
collective authority, and the right of self-guidance
against the dogmas of a sect, and the right
of private judgment and of open speaking.
In truth it was a quarrel with the very soul
of Catholicism—namely, obedience to
constituted authority, because constituted. But
Ramus headed the storm bravely. When
only twenty-one years of age, he chose for
his theme—in his examination for his M. A.
degree—"that all which Aristotle had said
was false." His argument ran thus; first,
that the writings attributed to the Peripatecian
were not his; second, that they were
full of error. His thesis had a brilliant
success, and at the close he was proclaimed
Maître des Arts with loud applause from all
the students. This thesis crossed the Alps
and penetrated into Italy; and Alessandro
Tassoni, the poet, speaks of the confusion and
amazement caused by such an audacious
attack, coupling his remark with no very
loving notice of Ramus himself. In France
it spread like wild-fire; and the mildest term
applied to its author was an "ungrateful
parricide, turning against his master the very
art of logic taught by him," to which Ramus
defended himself by Aristotle's own example,
when he professed to prefer truth to his
master Plato, adding, that had it been his
very father who had taught him error, he
would have opposed him to the death for the
sake of "truth dearer to him than his own
father."

After this first philosophical escapade, we
find Ramus giving lectures at the College
of Mans, and living in communistic fashion
with Omer Talon, professor of rhetoric, and
Alexander de Champagne the famous Grecian
of his day. These three professorial friends
lived together with a common purse, dividing
their labours as well as their gains. They
all migrated to the little college of Ave
Maria, where they opened public courses,
teaching, for the first time, in the history of
the university of Paris, Latin and Greek in
the same class; eloquence and philosophy,
and poetry, and oratory together; teaching,
too, in the Socratic manner of question and
answer, in opposition to the syllogistic method
in general use.

When twenty-eight years old, Ramus wrote
two books; the first simply setting forth
a few elements of logic; the second again
attacking Aristotle, calling the philosophic
demigod "sophist, impious, and impostor,"
and sweeping off his disciples as
"barbarians," without much ceremony. The
book was dedicated to Charles de Bourbon,
then Bishop of Nevers, and to Charles de
Lorraine, Archbishop of Rheims since eight
years of age. All France was at de la
Ramée's throat. Jean Hennuyer, good, mild,
amiable Jean Hennuyer, "groaned at having
raised up against philosophy this brand of
discord;" Joachim de Périon, a Sorbonnist
doctor, and Antoine de Govéa, a Portuguese
jurisconsult, told him he was "a fool, a
firebrand, and a plagiarist;" the university men,
led on by Pierre Gallaud, censured and
suppressed his two books, and condemned their
author as "an enemy of religion and of the
public peace, a corrupter of youth, a proclaimer
of dangerous novelties, a rebel to the voice of
nature, truth, and God!" Du Chastel,
Bishop of Mâhon, and the king's private
lecturer, carried complaint to the foot of the
throne, and Francis convoked a council,
whereby it was ordered that Ramus and
Govéa should hold a controversy in the
presence of five judges—four to be chosen by the
disputants and one by the crown. After
much trouble Ramus found two—Jean Quentin
and Jean de Bomont—to stand by him,
and the wordy combat began. It had lasted
two days, when Govéa and his bottle-holders
abruptly ended the séance, saying that the
discussion would be considered as non
avenue, and that they should begin again on
fresh ground, for they had made a certain
admission, logically damaging to their cause,
and de la Ramée did not spare them the
consequences. Ramus appealed against this
injustice, but in vain; judgment was given
against him, and his books were sentenced to be
condemned, suppressed and abolished; their
publication in any part of the French dominions
was prohibited on pain of confiscation
or corporeal punishment. Ramus was not
to read, write, copy, nor disseminate them in
any way, neither was he to read in philosophy
nor lecture on dialectics without express
permission; and he was not to oppose Aristotle,
nor any ancient author whatsoever endorsed
by Our Daughter the university. A decree a
trifle better than that promulgated under
Louis the Thirteenth, when no one was
permitted to attack the Aristotelian doctrines
under pain of death!

Under Henry the Second Ramus recovered
the right of teaching philosophy both by
books and lectures. Charles de Lorraine, to
whom in the meantime he had dedicated his
first book of Euclid, was his protector, and
Henry the Second saw only by the eyes of
the Cardinal and his friend Diana de Poitiers.
But Ramus plunged into new troubles by
daring to criticise Quintilian and Cicero;
and had not Charles de Lorraine come again
to his rescue, he had again been placed under
mental arrest.

In a short time he once more attacked
Aristotle, his bête-noir, explaining him point
by point, not word by word, as was the
custom, whereat they who believed in the
verbal inspiration of the Stagyrite cried out
against his impiety, and demanded his
extradition. But, favoured by the king, Ramus
was suffered to explain his old enemy as he