therefore it is highly regrettable that nobody did. But he was an
imperialist of the lowest type. He popularized this contemptible notion
that the size of the solar system ought to over-awe the spiritual dogma
of man. Why should a man surrender his dignity to the solar system any
more than to a whale? If mere size proves that man is not the image of
God, then a whale may be the image of God; a somewhat formless image;
what one might call an impressionist portrait. It is quite futile to
argue that man is small compared to the cosmos; for man was always small
compared to the nearest tree. But Herbert Spencer, in his headlong
imperialism, would insist that we had in some way been conquered and
annexed by the astronomical universe. He spoke about men and their
ideals exactly as the most insolent Unionist talks about the Irish and
their ideals. He turned mankind into a small nationality. And his evil
influence can be seen even in the most spirited and honourable of later
scientific authors; notably in the early romances of Mr. H.G. Wells.
Many moralists have in an exaggerated way represented the earth as
wicked. But Mr. Wells and his school made the heavens wicked. We should
lift up our eyes to the stars from whence would come our ruin.

But the expansion of which I speak was much more evil than all this. I
have remarked that the materialist, like the madman, is in prison; in
the prison of one thought. These people seemed to think it singularly
inspiring to keep on saying that the prison was very large. The size of
this scientific universe gave one no novelty, no relief. The cosmos went
on for ever, but not in its wildest constellation could there be
anything really interesting; anything, for instance, such as forgiveness
or free will. The grandeur or infinity of the secret of its cosmos added
nothing to it. It was like telling a prisoner in Reading gaol that he
would be glad to hear that the gaol now covered half the county. The
warder would have nothing to show the man except more and more long