In Anna Karenina, Tolstoy said that all happy families are happy in the same way, but all unhappy families are unhappy in their own way. Pace Tolstoy, there may very well be individual happy families, and individual unhappy families, but collectively, the human race has always been one big unhappy family, as a cursory glance at any non-progressive history book will tell you. When the anthropologists dig up an ancient grave and find the sword cuts on the bones and the jagged hole in the skull, that should tell you that we are very far from being one big happy family.
Why do they hurt us? the little boy cried
Why do we run from them, why do we hide?
His mother then hushed him, Be silent, my son
For we are but Christian, he Arian Hun
But that means he’s Christian, the boy softly said
Why would a Christian want Christians be dead?
He’s heretic, dear, only Christian in guise
While we are the heretic, son, in his eyes
The moon and the sun and the heavens all shine
On those who are hungry and those who well dine
For all are not equal nor thought to belong
We run and we hide because he is strong
He takes what he will from people like us
Who fill up the derelict wayfaring bus
That stops not for you nor it stops not for me
For such is the lot of the poor family