Albert Camus’ Moral Outcry: Defending Hungarian Fight for Freedom in 1956

Albert Camus, one of the most influential thinkers of the 20th century, resisted the prevailing intellectual trends of his time and stood as a solitary defender of Hungarian liberty during the 1956 Revolution.

Albert Camus (1913–1960) was a French-Algerian philosopher and writer who grew up in a poor working-class neighborhood in Algeria, then a French colony. His father, a French agricultural worker, was killed in action during the First World War when Camus was just an infant. Raised by his illiterate mother in a humble household, he developed a deep understanding of poverty and suffering. As a young man, despite his European background, he harbored a profound disdain for the exploitation of Algeria by French colonizers. The stark inequalities and injustices he witnessed in his homeland fueled his rebellious spirit and lifelong commitment to social justice. This commitment initially led him to find common ground with communists, who were at the forefront of the struggle for Algeria’s national liberation. Camus was drawn to their promises of equality and their opposition to the colonial system, which resonated deeply with his own experiences of marginalization.

During the Second World War, Camus moved to France, where he found himself living under Nazi occupation. In this oppressive environment, he aligned himself with the French Communists, who were instrumental in the resistance against the German occupiers. His writings from this period reflect his fierce opposition to tyranny and his conviction in the necessity of resisting oppressive regimes. While in Paris, Camus met Jean-Paul Sartre (1905-1980), the influential French existentialist philosopher and writer. The two formed a close intellectual and personal relationship, and Camus joined Sartre’s circle of intellectuals who were captivated by Marxist-Leninist ideals. After the war, Camus’ philosophical and literary work gained international recognition, establishing him as a prominent public figure. In 1957, at the age of 44, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, recognized “for his important literary production, which with clear-sighted earnestness illuminates the problems of the human conscience in our times”.

Initially drawn to the communists’ promises of social justice and equality, Camus became increasingly disillusioned with orthodox communism, particularly as it was practiced in the Soviet Union. Over time, his understanding of the moral and philosophical implications of totalitarianism deepened, and he grew profoundly troubled by the widespread oppressive measures and purges carried out by the Soviet regime. Guided by his moral and philosophical principles, Camus rejected any system that suppressed human dignity and individual freedom, which he considered fundamental and inalienable human values. In his seminal work ‘The Rebel’ (1951), Camus articulated a profound critique of political systems that sacrifice freedom and moral integrity for ideological purity. He argued that revolutions often betray their original ideals by adopting the very oppressive tactics they sought to overthrow, leading to new forms of tyranny. He believed that the rise of ideology in the modern world had significantly increased human suffering. While he acknowledged that many ideologies aimed to reduce suffering, he contended that the ends do not justify the means. The use of violence and repression, even in pursuit of noble goals, ultimately corrupts those goals and leads to further suffering.

“On the day when crime puts on the apparel of innocence, through a curious reversal peculiar to our age, it is innocence that is called on to justify itself.”

Albert Camus: The Rebel (1951)

Camus’ relationship with communism reached a definitive breaking point during the Hungarian Revolution of 1956. The brutal Soviet suppression of the uprising shocked him deeply and starkly contradicted the principles of freedom and self-determination that he held dear. In the wake of the Soviet crackdown, Camus emerged as one of the few Western intellectuals willing to publicly condemn the actions of the Soviet Union – a stance that placed him at odds with many of his contemporaries who either remained supportive of communism or were reluctant to criticize the excesses of the Soviet regime. His vocal opposition to Soviet tyranny and his defense of the Hungarian rebels were seen by some as a betrayal of the left. For Camus, however, this was a matter of moral consistency rather than political allegiance. He remained deeply sympathetic to the plight of the working class and critical of the injustices perpetuated by capitalism, yet, he could not reconcile himself with an ideology that, in his view, sacrificed fundamental human values for the sake of consolidating power.

On October 23, 1957, marking the first anniversary of the ill-fated revolt, Camus delivered a speech in Paris titled ‘The Blood of the Hungarians’. In this speech, he praised the courage of the Hungarian people and condemned the West for turning a blind eye to their suffering:

“I am not one of those who wish to see the people of Hungary take up arms again in a rising certain to be crushed, under the eyes of the nations of the world, who would spare them neither applause nor pious tears, but who would go back at one to their slippers by the fireside like a football crowd on a Sunday evening after a cup final.

There are already too many dead on the field, and we cannot be generous with any but our own blood. The blood of Hungary has re-emerged too precious to Europe and to freedom for us not to be jealous of it to the last drop.

But I am not one of those who think that there can be a compromise, even one made with resignation, even provisional, with a regime of terror which has as much right to call itself socialist as the executioners of the Inquisition had to call themselves Christians.

And on this anniversary of liberty, I hope with all my heart that the silent resistance of the people of Hungary will endure, will grow stronger, and, reinforced by all the voices which we can raise on their behalf, will induce unanimous international opinion to boycott their oppressors.

And if world opinion is too feeble or egoistical to do justice to a martyred people, and if our voices also are too weak, I hope that Hungary’s resistance will endure until the counter-revolutionary State collapses everywhere in the East under the weight of its lies and contradictions.

Hungary conquered and in chains has done more for freedom and justice than any people for twenty years. But for this lesson to get through and convince those in the West who shut their eyes and ears, it was necessary, and it can be no comfort to us, for the people of Hungary to shed so much blood which is already drying in our memories.

In Europe’s isolation today, we have only one way of being true to Hungary, and that is never to betray, among ourselves and everywhere, what the Hungarian heroes died for, never to condone, among ourselves and everywhere, even indirectly, those who killed them.

It would indeed be difficult for us to be worthy of such sacrifices. But we can try to be so, in uniting Europe at last, in forgetting our quarrels, in correcting our own errors, in increasing our creativeness, and our solidarity. We have faith that there is on the march in the world, parallel with the forces of oppression and death which are darkening our history, a force of conviction and life, an immense movement of emancipation which is culture and which is born of freedom to create and of freedom to work.

Those Hungarian workers and intellectuals, beside whom we stand today with such impotent sorrow, understood this and have made us the better understand it. That is why, if their distress is ours, their hope is ours also. In spite of their misery, their chains, their exile, they have left us a glorious heritage which we must deserve: freedom, which they did not win, but which in one single day they gave back to us.”

1956 Gloria Victis, 1956-86, Nemzetőr kiadása, Bécs, 1986

Because Camus refused to join the chorus of French intellectuals who idealized communism from a distance, he became a target for his former close friend, Jean-Paul Sartre, who remained a steadfast and dogmatic Communist. Sartre launched an unprecedented and aggressive campaign against Camus – an attack that went beyond philosophical disagreement and became a personal and public denunciation. Sartre sought to discredit Camus’ integrity and marginalize his influence within the intellectual community, leaving Camus increasingly isolated and nearly turning him into an object of public ridicule. The effects of this reputation-damaging campaign linger even today.

Although the Soviet invasion of Hungary in 1956 is now widely recognized as a clear example of Communist barbarism, the lingering influence of the intellectual climate from that era still casts a long shadow. Many Western intellectuals still hesitate to fully condemn the massacre, partly due to a historical reluctance to distance themselves from the ideals of communism, which they continue to view as fundamentally noble despite its failures in practice. Consequently, Camus’ warnings about the dangers of totalitarianism and the moral compromises inherent in ideological extremism are often overlooked or underappreciated in broader discourse.

Sources
Albert Camus (1994) The First Man