You can read the first part of the essay here.

To understand the stakes of the fate analysis that emerged in the wake of the Trianon shock, we must also examine the mainstream, progressivist view of history against which it positioned itself. In modernity—beginning as early as the mid-18th century—a strong demand for scientific research into origins awoke, but in accordance with the progressivist prejudices that came to the fore at the time, attempts were made to associate these origins with a kind of rudimentariness, or even crude primitiveness. Through the Enlightenment ideal of ‘refinement’, it began to seem as though a nation could only be of any worth if it transcended its ‘barbarian’ state and became capitalized. It was as if ancient folk culture increasingly had no place in ‘European civilization’, and the demand for religious–philosophical depth was completely crowded out by the exclusively natural–scientific worldview of the modern urban bourgeoisie and the rising techno–industrial class.

Originally, however, the initial and true meaning of the term ‘primitive’ was simply ‘primary’ (primer), not ‘rudimentary’ or ‘backward’, as it is unfortunately still often used today. Thinking minds of the Hungarian nation in the Middle Ages, and partly throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, viewed their ‘ancient’ origins as a source of strength and identity. In contrast, Voltaire or the ‘stadial’ historical perspective of the Scottish Enlightenment described history simply as a linear process moving from darkness to light, from barbarism to civilization. In this narrative, the nomadic, warrior origins associated with the Hungarians (such as the ‘Scythian–Hunnic’ tradition) were not a primordial force providing cause for pride, but rather a nearly shamefully ‘unpolished’ state to be transcended.

‘Thinking minds of the Hungarian nation in the Middle Ages, and partly throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, viewed their “ancient” origins as a source of strength and identity’

The Hungarians, who traditionally traced their lineage back to the ancient Scythians and Huns,¹ viewed themselves as a coherent, multi-rooted spiritual-political community even before the Árpád-era state organization, the conquest of the Carpathian Basin, and the foundation of the Christian state by St Stephen. Traces of this self-image can be found just as much in our medieval chronicle literature as in the descriptions written about us by foreign nations. Arab travellers, as well as German and Byzantine accounts, depicted the Hungarians as a martial, proud military-political entity of fearsome reputation, appearing as a vital community of Eastern steppe origin.²

The early Hungarian conception of the nation can clearly be traced back to the self-image of the Hungarian ‘noble nation’ (nemesi nemzet).

In 20th-century Hungarian thought, the representative of this linear-progressive Western historical perspective with perhaps the most profound impact—who is unequivocally counted among the ‘best’ of Hungarian political thinkers today—was István Bibó. In his essay The Meaning of European Social Development (Az európai társadalomfejlődés értelme), intended as a comprehensive study, Bibó outlined a philosophy of history that, among other things, invalidated the aristocratic conception of the nation. According to Bibó, ‘the very prehistoric and most primitive man’³ suddenly became aware that he was ‘going to die’, and this fear of death was supposedly the root of both religion and politics.⁴

Bibó simply referred to the nobility as a ‘brawling, bellicose, barbarian, haughty, luxurious, ostentatious’⁵ stratum, as if this were the normal ‘pre-Christian’ human condition. Beyond the fact that Bibó relies here on an ideological approach rather than empirical arguments—one that pays very little regard to the diversity of value systems—he subjects the past to a massive distortion. He essentially levels and degrades everything that preceded a Christianity interpreted one-sidedly as ‘humanistic’ and a secular ethic. According to Bibó, these traits had to be ‘tamed’ by the Christian clergy. For him, the true creator of value was the ‘diligent’ urban bourgeoisie, which represented a ‘conscious’ way of life in contrast to the aristocracy.

What Bibó’s history, built on purely utilitarian and pseudo-Christian views, calls ‘brawling ostentation’ was in reality the medieval chivalric ideal, the culture of honour, loyalty, and blood sacrifice. Furthermore, the ‘culture of chivalric honour’ was not ‘brought about’ by Christianity—as he mistakenly believes, since medieval heavy cavalry has Scythian and Sarmatian roots⁶—but rather, Christianity embraced these Eastern warrior values and integrated them into its unique European medieval Christian culture. These were, in fact, values that stood high above the ‘bourgeois’ ethic of mere material gain.

‘What Bibó’s history…calls “brawling ostentation” was in reality the medieval chivalric ideal, the culture of honour, loyalty, and blood sacrifice’

Bibó addressed the questions of the Hungarian national fate and national character more specifically in his best-known essay, Distorted Hungarian Character, Dead-End Hungarian History (Eltorzult magyar alkat, zsákutcás magyar történelem). Here, he argued that at the beginning of the 16th century (following the Dózsa peasant rebellion and the codification of Werbőczy’s Tripartitum), Hungarian society became stuck in an extremely harmful developmental phase. As he writes in his now-classic observation:

‘This is when the most detrimental phenomenon of modern Hungarian social development sets off: the peasant-hating lesser noble, barely distinguishable from the peasant, yet imbued with a spirit of domination and a demand for social privileges.’⁷

According to Bibó, it was precisely the mentality of this historical elite, and later the modern ‘gentlemanly middle class’ (úri középosztály) that evolved from it, that stalled Hungarian society in building a modern nation-state. Bibó believed that this gentlemanly class built its power on mendacious and authoritarian constructs, creating a world of ‘false realism’. As he put it, the gentlemanly middle class ‘defended a social construct as its own privilege, which in reality was detrimental to the nation as a whole.’ According to him, this stratum—although economically declining—clung desperately to social hierarchy, authoritarianism, the paternalistic ‘uram–bátyám’ system of genteel cronyism, and mere outward appearances devoid of actual performance.

Contrasting the ideal of a professional, Western-style, technocratic bourgeoisie with the Hungarian ‘gentlemanly’ (úri) mentality is, however, rather one-sided, especially since Bibó clearly labels the latter a distortion, attributing no value to it whatsoever. We might ask the question, though: is mere ‘professionalism’ and a rootless bourgeois existence sufficient to hold a nation together?

The behaviour dubbed ‘gentlemanly’ also included elements such as a code of honour, respect for the national past, dignified bearing, and the superiority of classical education over mere utilitarianism. This was not corruption, but the primary tool of assimilation and nation-building. When the bourgeoisie of German, Jewish, or Slavic descent rose in the late 19th century, it was precisely this ‘gentry’ (later Christian-national) value system that they adopted. This ethos was what turned the elite of a multi-ethnic country into culturally and emotionally Hungarian officers, civil servants, or teachers. The destruction of traditional authority and the utopia of the ‘rational, bottom-up democracy of the peasantry’ ultimately left Hungarian society completely defenceless against the radical, communist-serving societal transformations of 1918–1919 and the post-1945 era.

For modern and postmodern political thought, ‘aristocracy’ is an almost exclusively negative concept: synonymous with arbitrary exploitation based on birthright, or—for Marxists—‘parasitic class rule’. Bibó’s thinking is not at all far from this conception. However, this critique employs a strawman argument, which, akin to the ‘every king is a tyrant’ model, equates the principle itself with its historically contingent, and often distorted, manifestations. It is as if we were to judge the ideal of justice solely on the actions of corrupt judges. This critique is also flawed because it refuses to acknowledge either the original philosophical meaning of aristocracy or its vital political function.

And this detrimental reasoning did not perish with Marxism. Today, it is maintained by the global entertainment industry, as our image of the historical elite and the monarchy is almost exclusively shaped by mass-cultural products like the Game of Thrones series, or—in a Hungarian context—modern historical adaptations (such as the new Rise of the Raven / Hunyadi series). Even works with explicitly national–conservative intentions, such as Mór Bán’s novel cycle—where János Hunyadi is practically the only commendable ‘chivalric’ spirit, while the majority of the aristocracy and kings are weak puppets or moral monsters—often fall into this same trap.

Creators depict aristocratic power primarily as a pragmatic, Machiavellian struggle; the problem with this is not that it is unrealistic, but that it is exclusive. Pop culture, even with the best of intentions, imperceptibly grants absolution to modern, deconstructive views of power and especially of the aristocratic power: it reinforces the egalitarian foundational myth that if every hierarchy and crown is merely a cover for raw violence, then we truly have no reason to respect the authorities of the past.

‘The dominance of this narrative has self-destructive consequences for national consciousness’

István Bibó’s diagnosis—precisely because of his brilliant analytical skills and moral seriousness—became a veritable canon in a significant portion of Hungarian intellectual thought. Bibó’s intention—though undoubtedly not destruction, but a peculiarly interpreted ‘healing’—ultimately caused more harm than good. The dominance of this narrative has self-destructive consequences for national consciousness. Measured against the idealized ‘West’ of the progressive–urban conception, this perspective generates perpetual frustration for Hungarians, rather than valuing our own traditions and nation-building strategies stemming from our Central European endowments.

Even more damaging, however, is the rejection and exclusion of the noble conception of the nation from national self-awareness: no nation can identify exclusively with the (often passive) masses of the people. It needs heroic ideals, which in Hungarian history were embodied by the political ‘backbone’ of the Hungarians, the warrior–politicizing nobility. It is this stratum that has, in reality, always carried the idea of spiritual and partial genetic continuity with the conquerors, and indeed with more distant ancestors—the Huns and Scythians. And the Hungarian national image cannot exclude its own founder without suffering a fatal fracture: it would be akin to breaking its own spine.

Thus, in order to evaluate the Hungarian ‘character’ and the problem of national self-knowledge more realistically, we must set off on different paths than Bibó: we must examine the nation-integrating power of the pre-modern era and the spiritual reality of the Hungarian concept of the state.

1. The cornerstone of Hungarian noble identity since the Middle Ages was the consciousness of Hun–Hungarian kinship. Simon of Kéza’s chronicle (around 1282) recorded the Hun–Hungarian ‘identity’ in writing, thereby establishing the legal continuity of the ‘Scythian’ origin of the nobility. István Werbőczy’s famous Tripartitum (1514) elevated this to a legal foundation: he derived noble liberties directly from the ancient, free election of the ‘Scythians’ and from the rights acquired by arms (ius acquisitum). ↩︎
2. Foreign sources about the early Hungarians uniformly describe a well-organized, formidable military force. In his work Tactica, Byzantine Emperor Leo the Wise highlights their discipline when analysing the martial art of the Hungarians (Turks). Arab geographers (eg, Ibn Rusta, Gardizi) describe the Hungarians as a wealthy, commanding people ruling over the Slavs. Western chronicles (eg, Abbot Regino of Prüm), although speaking with dread mixed with horror of the ‘arrows of the Hungarians’, were forced to acknowledge the effectiveness of their nomadic combat tactics and the vitality of the tribal alliance behind the sheer destruction. ↩︎
3. István Bibó: Az európai társadalomfejlődés értelme [The Meaning of European Social Development], https://vmek.oszk.hu/02000/02043/html/430.html. ↩︎
4. Ibid. ‘The fact that man knows he is going to die means the possibility of an entirely new kind of spiritual illness, and this is probably at the root of the ultimate, final motives of both politics and religion, and this is the consciousness of fear.’ ↩︎
5. Ibid. ↩︎
6. The development of medieval European chivalric combat and heavy armoured cavalry (cataphracts) can be tied not to Western, but to Eastern steppe peoples. The Scythians, but especially the Sarmatians and Parthians, developed the style of combat where both the rider and the horse wore scale or chain mail. On the Indo-European and steppe roots of chivalric culture, see in detail: C Scott Littleton – Linda A. Malcor, From Scythia to Camelot: A Radical Reassessment of the Legends of King Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table, and the Holy Grail, Garland Publishing, 1994, revised in 2000; and Bernard S Bachrach, A History of the Alans in the West, University of Minnesota Press, 1973. The moral code and myths of Western chivalry (the Grail quest, honour) show astonishing parallels with the epic tales of the Caucasian Ossetians (the descendants of the Alans), the Nart sagas (such as the ‘sword in the stone’ motif, or the ‘Holy Grail’ itself). The doctrine of Western chivalry is the spiritual legacy of the Eastern, steppe, equestrian nomadic (Scythian–Sarmatian–Hunnic) warrior elite, from which the Hungarians also derive themselves. ↩︎
7. István Bibó, Eltorzult magyar alkat, zsákutcás magyar történelem [Distorted Hungarian Character, Dead-End Hungarian History], https://vmek.oszk.hu/02000/02043/html/350.html. ↩︎

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