Jacques Maritain lived in a momentous era in world history. Written between two world wars, his 1936 monumental work Integral Humanism presents a philosophical alternative to the competing European sociopolitical models of his time. Maritain proposes a “new Christendom,” fundamentally different from the medieval conception of civilization and the secular humanism of his day. This vision would be animated by what he terms “integral humanism,” a kind of humanism that takes into account the full dignity of human life as well as our dependence on our Creator. In this commentary, I will explain how Maritain’s vision of a new Christendom, while philosophically and ethically sound, requires reworking to address realities unforeseen in his time.
Maritain starts the book by explaining the concept of “humanism.” He makes a distinction between two opposing forms of this philosophy: “theocentric humanism,” which places God at the centre of humanity, and “anthropocentrichumanism” which placed man at the core. The latter, better known as “secular humanism,” emerged during the Renaissance with the “rehabilitation of the creature”[1] as its aim. However, in attempting to elevate man, it separated him from his metaphysical source and fostered the illusion of his self-sufficiency. Maritain argues that the inevitable fruits of this ideology are degradation, materialism, and totalitarianism, elements that he observed in certain European political regimes of his time.
As a rigorous philosopher, Maritain dedicates a substantial analysis in critiquing the atheistic and materialistic foundations of Marxism and their logical, and destructive, conclusions. He does this remarkably well. However, there is a notable imbalance in his work, as he fails to apply the same depth in analyzing fascism, especially the way it took place in Germany under the form of “National Socialism.” This ideology presented an equal, if not greater, threat at his time.
The lack of proportionality in Maritain’s critique is striking, especially as one considers the philosophical core of Nazism. Douglas Kelley, a US Army officer who served as the chief psychiatrist at Nuremberg Prison in 1945, presents various examples of this ideology in his book 22 Cells in Nuremberg. He quotes Jankow Janeff, a staff member of the Nazi Party’s official philosopher, Alfred Rosenberg, as explicitly articulating this ideology: “The new Europe will be a continent restored to barbarism.… And this time the foundation for the new Europe will be laid, not by priests and diplomats, but by pirates of destiny… Now, at last, we may frankly confess that the Gospel has lost all meaning for us.”[2]
Does this declaration not embody the very degradation that Maritain warns against? While German fascism was not explicitly materialistic in its philosophy, as is the case with Marxism, it morally justified its atrocities on a foundation of brute force, or “might makes right.” Can such pure social Darwinism be considered any more consistent with Christian ideals than communist materialism? Moreover, in terms of totalitarianism, the horrific fruits of fascism fully bloomed merely six years after this book was published, an omission that is far from insignificant.
In the second chapter, Maritain presents Marxism as a secular religion, whose dogmatic foundation is dialectical materialism. He views it as a reaction against a Christendom that failed to embody Gospel values in earthly life while overemphasizing the afterlife. In this framework, economic production becomes the driving force of history, while the proletariat assumes a messianic role, destined to lead humanity toward absolute freedom. Though Maritain acknowledges valid insights from Marxism, such as social justice and the dignity of labour, he critiques its reliance on purely external means to bring about the transformation of humanity. He also challenges modern “bourgeois humanism” as it compartmentalizes faith and relegates Gospel ideals to an otherworldly sphere, effectively nullifying their relevance in practical life.
Between the two inadequate extremes of materialistic and bourgeois humanism, Maritain proposes “integral humanism” as a third alternative. While the first philosophy places man against God, and the second one ignores Him in practice, his third path, humanity is “rehabilitated in God.”[3] This vision integrates the valid insights and aspirations of both worldviews while honouring their ultimate source. Rather than separating the temporal from the spiritual domains or setting man against God, integral humanism affirms a genuine human flourishing as well as a harmony between the natural and the divine.
In proposing this integral humanism, Maritain demonstrates a profound grasp of the transformative power of the Gospel, which cultivates a radical self-awareness, honours both nature and grace, and possesses a power that is active in the temporal order while transcending purely temporal goals. He insists that authentic change require that divine grace work through human freedom rather than external or ideological adjustment. This integration, born from Maritain’s personal journey and his deep encounter with grace in his pursuit of truth and ultimate happiness, provided a much-needed alternative in a time of ideological extremes.
In the third chapter, Maritain explores the relationship of the Christian to the world. First, he makes a distinction between the spiritual realm (concerned with faith, grace, and eternal life) and the temporal realm (earthly civilization). He emphasizes that while these domains are distinct, they are not dualistically separated but rather intersect in meaningful ways. Why is this necessary? He argues that this understanding is necessary to avoid three erroneous extremes: satanocracy, which views the world as belonging to Satan and therefore not worth engaging; theocracy, the medieval view that the world is progressively becoming the kingdom of God; and anthropocentrism, which sees the world as purely natural with no supernatural destiny. The Christian’s temporal mission is to rehabilitate the creature in God through what he calls “the sanctification of the secular,”[4] made possible when the Gospel is deeply interiorized. Sanctity, therefore, can be pursued both through secular and sacred activities. This enables Christians to fully engage with the world in building structures of justice and love that serve the Kingdom and promote the flourishing of human freedom in which God’s grace actively works.
After having laid the foundation of integral humanism and clarified the proper relationship between the Christian and the world, Maritain spends the next two chapters introducing his “concrete historical ideal,” defined as an achievable view as opposed to an abstract utopia. Perhaps foreseeing criticism, he contrasts this with the medieval ideal of a Holy Empire, in which society served a ministerial role to the spiritual realm, with a hierarchical diversity of roles endowed with paternal or sacred authority. This medieval idea eventually dissolved through other forces in history: baroque absolutism, which overreached in defending Christianity against state power; liberalism, which fragmented spiritual unity through excessive individualism; and later, totalitarianism, which imposed false unity through coercive means.
In response to these failures, Maritain proposes a new Christendom, which would possess specific, well-defined properties: 1) a pluralist structure, 2) the autonomy of the temporal as an end in itself, 3) the extraterritoriality of the person, 4) a fundamental equality, and 5) the common task of realizing fraternal community. However sound and balanced this view appears in theory, Maritain leaves unresolved the critical question about implementation and, most importantly, preservation. He does not offer sufficient resources for ensuring that ideologies bearing the Christian name do not distort these noble ends toward twisted goals. For example, how can a pluralist structure be safeguarded against ideologies that emphasize homogeneity of the majority (e pluribus unum) at the expense of diversity? How to prevent an us-versus-them mentality? How to respond when the concept of “brotherhood” is restricted in its application to those of a particular race, culture, or ideology within a pluralistic society? Did Maritain foresee these problems? Could he have?
The author concludes that building a new Christendom requires more than political revolution. Since politics is intrinsically ethical, it requires virtuous leaders (boni viri) to guide it. Yet, writing nearly a century ago, Maritain could not foresee the rise of an economic elite whose power transcends political office. There exists today a class of billionaires who effectively live by their own rules, shaping policy, escaping accountability, and co-opting even good people (boni viri) to serve their ends. Maritain’s ethical framework did not anticipate this.
Maritain’s vision of a “new Christendom” is still a noble and achievable goal. Yet, it requires thoughtful reworking to remain viable in our day. This refinement demands the collaboration of virtuous individuals (boni viri) drawn from diverse social conditions, fields of knowledge, cultures, religions, and political visions, whose collective wisdom can forge a unified vision of fraternity and the common good, transforming a “new Christendom,” even if under another name, into a more robust and attainable ideal. Such an effort must not only update Maritain’s framework in light of present realities but must also anticipate future dangers. Finally, it is also essential to develop mechanisms to implement and safeguard this vision against erosion, whether from the manipulation of bad actors, or the ignorance of well-meaning people who may unknowingly undermine it.
[1] J. Maritain, “The Dissolution of the Middle Ages,” in Integral Humanism, Translated by Joseph K. Evans, Providence, Cluny, 2024, 14.
[2] D. M. Kelley, “Pan-Germanism and Nazi Ideology,” in 22 Cells in Nuremberg, Edited by Louis Meléndez González, 2026, 17. Emphasis mine.
[3] Maritain, 61.
[4] Maritain, 112.