an of modern times struggles through a maze of endless
complication. Nothing is simple any longer: neither thought nor action;
not pleasure, not even dying. With our own hands we have added to
existence a train of hardships, and lopped off many a gratification. I
believe that thousands of our fellow-men, suffering the consequences of
a too artificial life, will be grateful if we try to give expression to
their discontent, and to justify the regret for naturalness which
vaguely oppresses them.

Let us first speak of a series of facts that put into relief the truth
we wish to show.

The complexity of our life appears in the number of our material needs.
It is a fact universally conceded, that our needs have grown with our
resources. This is not an evil in itself; for the birth of certain needs
is often a mark of progress. To feel the necessity of bathing, of
wearing fresh linen, inhabiting wholesome houses, eating healthful food,
and cultivating our minds, is a sign of superiority. But if certain
needs exist by right, and are desirable, there are others whose effects
are fatal, which, like parasites, live at our expense: numerous and
imperious, they engross us completely.

Could our fathers have foreseen that we should some day have at our
disposal the means and forces we now use in sustaining and defending our
material life, they would have predicted for us an increase of
independence, and therefore of happiness, and a decrease in competition
for worldly goods: they might even have thought that through the
simplification of life thus made possible, a higher degree of morality
would be attained. None of these things has come to pass. Neither
happiness, nor brotherly love, nor power for good has been increased.
In the first place, do you think your fellow-citizens, taken as a whole,
are more contented than their forefathers, and less anxious about the
future? I do not ask if they should find reason to be so, but if they
really are so. To see them live, it seems to me that a majority of them
are discontented with their lot, and, above all, absorbed in material
needs and beset with cares for the morrow. Never has the question of
food and shelter been sharper or more absorbing than since we are better
nourished, better clothed, and better housed than ever. He errs greatly
who thinks that the query, "What shall we eat, and what shall we drink,
and wherewithal shall we be clothed?" presents itself to the poor alone,
exposed