The idea that Hungarians are directly descended from Attila the Hun and even connected to ancient Sumerian civilization might sound familiar to many Hungarians. While linguistic research clearly places Hungarian in the Finno-Ugric language family, and historical and archaeological evidence does not support a direct Hun-Hungarian continuity, this alternative narrative persists in certain circles. It remains popular because it offers a more dramatic and heroic origin story—one of mighty warrior ancestors rather than distant linguistic relatives.
This isn’t unique to Hungary. Our recent research examines how similar dynamics play out in Slovakia, where the medieval ruler Svätopluk I has become central to debates about Slovak national identity. Through analyzing the 2010 controversy surrounding his statue at Bratislava Castle, we uncovered how historical narratives can be shaped and reshaped to serve present-day needs, even when they diverge from historical evidence. But when historians criticized the statue’s inscription describing Svätopluk as “king of ancient Slovaks,” the ensuing debate revealed a deeper question: who actually gets to decide what counts as legitimate history?
What is pseudohistory and why does it matter?
Examining what constitutes “pseudohistory” raises complex questions about knowledge production and authority. While it’s tempting to draw a clear line between “proper” history and “pseudo” history, our research suggests the boundary is more fluid. What counts as legitimate historical knowledge has shifted over time, shaped by changing academic standards, institutional authorities, and broader social contexts.
Consider how historical knowledge is validated: academic institutions, cultural organizations, and state authorities all play roles in determining which interpretations of the past are considered legitimate. Today’s accepted historical scholarship might have been considered questionable in the past, and vice versa. This dynamic is particularly visible in how medieval history is interpreted – where limited documentary evidence leaves room for multiple readings, and where institutional authority often determines which interpretations become mainstream.
What interests us about narratives often labeled as “pseudohistorical” is not their accuracy per se, but rather how they persist and gain strength despite scholarly criticism. We propose that these narratives can endure because they operate through what we call “slow joy” – the gradual accumulation of positive emotional investments through sustained engagement with mythologized versions of the past. Unlike scholarly historical work, which aims for critical distance, these narratives actively cultivate pride and connection to a glorified past. The label “pseudo” comes into play not just because these narratives might diverge from current academic consensus, but also because they serve a different purpose: building emotional bonds to particular versions of history rather than pursuing historical understanding for its own sake.
A good example of this process is King Arthur and his position in the British historical imagination. According to historical scholarship, King Arthur is a purely legendary figure who appeared in chronicles and poetry throughout the Middle Ages and beyond. His legendary status became even more prominent in the 19th century, when British nationalists looked into the past for a heroic figure to help strengthen the nascent British identity. Stories of Arthur’s chivalry and strength in battle acted – and still act – as a source of slow joy, creating a sense of pride for the British nation, despite the fact that Arthur was most likely not a historical figure. This legend becomes even more recognizably pseudohistorical in that generations of Britons have made claims about finding historical evidence of King Arthur and his legendary court, even though none of these stand up to scrutiny from trained historians.
Svätopluk, our pseudohistorical Slovak king
King Svätopluk I, unlike King Arthur, did truly exist; he ruled as the king of Great Moravia in 870-894. However, we argue that he has attained pseudohistorical status after centuries of retellings of his story changed him from the king of a historical territory that once existed in and around what is now Slovakia to the ‘king of Old Slovaks’. This phrase, now removed, was at the center of the controversy surrounding the statue erected of Svätopluk at the Bratislava Castle in 2010, and it is quite revealing of the position that Svätopluk now occupies in the national narrative of Slovakia. When the framers of the Slovak nation began outlining what it meant to be Slovak in the 18th and 19th centuries, legendary accounts of Svätopluk’s life became an attractive source of what we’ve termed ‘slow joy’. These accounts mixed historical sources with mythical retellings, allowing nationalist actors to justify claims to a Slovak state using Svätopluk’s very existence.
These accounts of Svätopluk, however, are as useful now as they were in the 18th century when they began accumulating. The fact that a previous government of current Slovak prime minister Robert Fico proposed the statue in 2010 in the leadup to an election attests to this. Putting a statue of this heroic king pulled from a nationalist narrative of the Slovak past became a celebration of national pride for the government and for the statue’s backers, even as historians claimed that the statue – and particularly the ‘king of Old Slovaks’ plaque – was historically inaccurate. Modifying or removing the statue, its supporters claimed, would be humiliating for the nation.
One of its important supporters was Matica slovenská, a major Slovak cultural and scientific institution that played an important role in the process of Slovak nation building. Matica adopted what we would describe as pseudohistorical narrative of Svätopluk early on for the purpose of nation building, and they still continue to celebrate Svätopluk as a direct ancestor to today’s Slovaks. Matica’s support is particularly important because, as a recognized scientific authority, they very much have the institutional ability to define what counts as ‘history’ for a broad public. The government, in erecting a statue in such an important space, played a similar role. Because these monuments in the public space seem so permanent, people often grant additional weight to the interpretations of the past that they depict. Between this phenomenon, and an institution like Matica throwing its weight behind the statue, it is easy to see how this version of Svätopluk – the heroic, kingly ancestor of Slovakia – could appear increasingly legitimate, despite historians’ protests.
Why does this matter today?
By illuminating this case of Svätopluk in Slovakia, we do not aim to say that the Slovak government is misusing history in a particularly egregious way, but rather to draw attention to the ubiquitous phenomenon of the past as a tool for building, strengthening, and maintaining national identities. The lines between different forms of the past – like history, pseudohistory, and collective memory – are highly blurred, and they mix together in cases like Svätopluk, where a historically attested figure takes on mythical proportions. This sort of emotionally-laden myth in the guise of history, or what we’ve analyzed as pseudohistory, is very present in modern political discourse, and not just in Slovakia. Perhaps King Arthur is less salient in modern British political discourse, but various interpretations of Winston Churchill’s legacy abound. In the American memory narrative, George Washington has morphed from a king-like figure into the consummate representative of a democratic system of government, but he is always linked to the same positive emotions as a source of slow joy: pride, resilience, a drive for independence. And to come full circle, we can return to Attila the Hun as an alleged ancestor to today’s Hungarians; historically attested or not, the story is important because of the emotions it sparks in its backers.
With this in mind, we argue that it is crucial to look critically at claims about the past, even – or perhaps especially – those coming from government authorities who otherwise claim to be representatives of ‘history’. History, we must remember, can only ever be an assemblage of various disparate sources and can never completely capture the events of the past, even when it is written by researchers with the greatest desire for unbiased accuracy. And, as we’ve seen, historical accounts with the potential to spark slow joy can be powerful sources of national pride, especially as increasingly mythologized accounts begin to accumulate.
Svätopluk as a pseudohistorical character in the nationalist Slovak memory narrative is, then, hardly unique – but we hope that by analyzing him, we can pique readers’ attention to other national contexts where similar phenomena may appear.
Zea Szebeni
Social psychologist, researcher at the University of Helsinki
Common past: knowledge to dispel historical misconceptions – supporting the work of Slovak and Hungarian history teachers through print and online publications, professional conferences. A project of the Association of History Teachers and the Hungarian-language newspaper of the Denník N news portal.
Funded by the European Union. The information and statements contained herein are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the official views of the European Union or the Tempus Public Foundation. Neither the European Union nor the funding authority can be held responsible for them.
