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Journalism of Courage
The year was 1873. Leo Tolstoy, already Russia’s most celebrated novelist, sat down to write the first line of what would become his masterpiece, Anna Karenina (1877). He began with a devastating truth: “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”
It was an observation so precise it felt like a law of nature. And in a way, it was. Before the term “systems thinking” entered the lexicon and interdisciplinary studies became the academic norm, Tolstoy had unknowingly articulated a principle that would transcend literature—a universal theory of failure. Today, scholars call it the Anna Karenina Principle, and it governs everything from doomed startups to collapsing ecosystems, from broken marriages to extinct species.
The 19th century birthed many grand theories— Charles Darwin’s natural selection, Karl Marx’s class struggle, and Sigmund Freud’s unconscious mind. Where other Victorian-era ideas were eventually challenged or refined, the Anna Karenina Principle has only grown more relevant with time.
The rule states that success is fragile because it requires everything to go right, while failure is inevitable because it takes only one thing to go wrong. Consider: a marriage thrives only with trust, communication, compatibility, and mutual respect. Remove one, and the relationship crumbles. Similarly, a startup needs product-market fit, strong leadership, funding, and timing. One misstep can lead to collapse. Finally, a species survives only if its environment, food supply, and reproductive cycle align. Disrupt one, and extinction follows. This asymmetry explains why failure is more common than success—and why Tolstoy’s insight has been adopted by fields far beyond literature.
The principle gained scientific legitimacy in 1997, when Jared Diamond applied it in Guns, Germs, and Steel to explain why so few animals have ever been domesticated. For domestication to succeed, he argued, a species must meet a strict checklist: the right diet, a calm temperament, a useful social hierarchy. Fail just one condition, and domestication fails entirely.
The same logic applies to microbiomes (a single imbalance can trigger disease), business ventures (one flawed assumption can sink a company), and personal happiness (a single unresolved trauma can undermine a life). As Aristotle once said, “To succeed is possible only in one way; to fail is possible in many.”
When Anna Karenina was published, Russia was in upheaval—old family structures were fracturing under modernity. Tolstoy’s novel doesn’t offer a single truly happy family.The eponymous Anna is trapped in a loveless marriage with Alexei Karenin, a high ranking government official. She falls in love with the charming Count Vronsky, ending in a passionate affair that defies societal norms. As the relationship comes to light, Anna faces public scandal and personal turmoil. Parallel to her journey, Konstantin Levin, a landowner, seeks love and meaning in his life, marrying Kitty Shcherbatsky, an aristocrat.
Even Levin and Kitty, the closest to an ideal couple, who find happiness within the bonds of family, struggle with doubt and imperfection. This begs the question: does the “happy family” even exist? The novel dissects infidelity, jealousy, societal pressure, and emotional repression, each a unique path to unhappiness. Meanwhile, happiness, if it exists at all, is easily shattered.
One might argue Tolstoy’s principle was ahead of its time because the 19th century was obsessed with success—industrial progress, social utopias, imperial expansion. It took the 20th century’s catastrophes (world wars, economic collapses, ecological crises) for us to truly appreciate his corollary: that understanding failure’s many faces is more urgent than cataloging success’s singular path.
In an era of precarious careers, fragile relationships, and systemic failures, the Anna Karenina Principle feels more relevant than ever. Few ideas can bridge literature, science, and human experience so seamlessly. There is a reason, after all, that the line which introduces an 800-word Russian novel, remains popular across generations, cultures and continents in an era of reducing attention spans. Tolstoy’s opening line, beyond being a truism, was a prophecy: perfection is rare and failure is always waiting. And in that, perhaps, lies its enduring power.
(“Drawing a Line” is an eight-column weekly series exploring the stories behind literature’s most iconic opening lines. Each column offers interpretation, not definitive analysis—because great lines, like great books, invite many readings.)
