Steven Félix-Jäger, Pentecostal Aesthetics: Theological Reflections in a Pentecostal Philosophy of Art and Aesthetics, Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2015, 221pp. Reviewed by Shane Clifton

As the title implies, Pentecostal Aesthetics sets out to establish a Pentecostal approach to art. The book is divided into three parts, with the first setting the historical and ontological context, and the second and third putting in place Félix-Jäger’s constructive contribution, exploring the nature and purpose of art from a Pentecostal perspective. The book is a publication of the authors PhD, and although I am not aware of the extent of the revision required before the text was accepted for publication by Brill, it is certainly the case that the final product is more accessible than many a doctoral thesis. Perhaps this is because the author is, himself, a practising artist, and his passion for the subject is evident throughout.

The book seems to have two principal audiences in mind. The first are Christian artists that have an interest in reflecting upon the theological significance of their work, as well as its potential use in the church. The second are Pentecostal churches, along with other churches with an interest in the connection between art and the Holy Spirit. Indeed, it is my hope that Pentecostal leaders take up the challenge of reflecting on Félix-Jäger’s argument. For too long Pentecostals have given in to the functional practicality of churches that more often than not are located in ugly warehouses and blacked out spaces; there is very little of the majestic beauty of mainline Christian architecture and art in Pentecostalism. We value artistic music, but too rarely consider the potential of Spiritual art as a medium of worship that is capable of revealing the truth of the gospel and playing a substantive part in the mission of the church. And when we do embrace the arts, too often we capitulate to gaudy sentimentalism, against which Félix-Jäger’s devastating critique of Christian kitsch is worth the price of the book (at least, if you’re stinking rich – see my complaint at the end of this review about the pricing of Brill’s books).

There is little point in a chapter by chapter summary of the book. Rather, in what follows my intent is to take up a few of the topics addressed that were of interest to me as an author and systematic theologian. Certainly, I’m no artist, but I’ve always thought of theological writing as a creative endeavour. Indeed, those of us who are theologians need to be honest and admit that, most of the time, we are making things up as we go, hoping that the Spirit is somehow involved in our efforts. And if I was to summarise the argument of Pentecostal aesthetics, it would be that the book is an open-ended exploration, seeking to discern how the Spirit works in and through artists (and other creatives).

In this light, it would come as no surprise that the first of Félix-Jäger’s constructive chapters considers artistic inspiration by drawing a parallel between the inspiration of the Scriptures and that of the artist. I appreciated this idea immediately, not only because I could imagine conservatives spilling their coffee in horror, but because it’s a reminder that we often do too much with the biblical idea of inspiration, turning the Scriptures into a magic book; that is to say, in making this connection, Félix-Jäger humanises the inspiration of the scriptures, and at the same time inspirates our creative endeavours. This is further apparent when he chooses the third of NT Wright’s options for understanding inspiration, the dynamic view, which understands inspiration as a product of the divine and the human, where the author/artist doesn’t betray his or her own abilities and context, but collaborates with the Spirit in the co-creative endeavour. From this perspective, “God is constantly creating, in us, through us, with us, and to co-create with God is our human calling, …God through his Spirit lets us share in his creativity.” (p.82)

Because he is setting out a Pentecostal aesthetic, Félix-Jäger draws on the work of important Pentecostal scholars to extend this conception of inspiration. James Smith, for example, helps him to see that the Pentecostal worldview, out of which our artistic endeavours flow, is more a product of imagination then intellect. Similarly, he draws on Amos Yong’s pneumatological imagination to understand our co-creativity as “a way of seeing God, self, and the world that is inspired by the Pentecostal charismatic experience of the Spirit.” Imagination and Spirituality are potentially vague concepts (wonderfully vague, from my perspective), and so both Yong and Félix-Jäger identify the importance of discernment. How do we know when something is inspired by the Spirit? Yong, whose work on discernment occurs in the context of interreligious dialogue, argues that the Spirit is at work in actions, symbols, and texts that promote social cohesion in the midst of chaos and are emotionally transformative, bringing liberation and healing (the daemonic is apparent in the opposite case, where community is destroyed and lives are bound and broken). Félix-Jäger considers this same process of discernment in respect to art, but notes that the problem is that artists often draw on both the Spiritual and the daemonic to make their point, with dark images bringing evil to light. He thereafter identifies a three-step process of Spiritual discernment (p.103), which, first, considers an artist’s purpose in the context of their artistic tradition, second, compares this purpose to the larger purposes of God, and third, seeks the illumination of the Spirit to aid in the task of discernment.

In all of this discussion of inspiration I wondered whether Félix-Jäger was looking at things the wrong way. Rather than consider inspiration from the perspective of the purpose of the artist, perhaps it’s better to listen to the perspective of the viewer. If post-modernism has taught us that our interpretation of text is inevitably subjective, this is even more true of our discernment of the meaning of art. Of course objectivity and subjectivity need not be polar opposites, but it is surely the case that the Spirit might speak to me from a particular art work quite differently than she does to my neighbour, and what to one person brings liberation and healing might well cause distress and hurt to another. Ultimately, Félix-Jäger recognises the point, noting that his process of discernment won’t allow definite conclusions but, rather, facilitates conversation and guides discussion (p. 05), and that is certainly a worthy goal – both for biblical and artistic conceptions of inspiration.

From inspiration, Pentecostal Aesthetics moves to a consideration of beauty, beginning by identifying the problem of beauty; the movement from classical conceptions of objective beauty (which reflect the transcendent beauty of God), to modern subjective constructions, to identifying the separation of notions of the artistic and beauty altogether - “Beauty must only be present in art if it is artistically right for the work of art to be beautiful” (p.116). But while Félix-Jäger appreciates the modern insight, he seeks to reclaim the significance of beauty for Christian art, noting that while there may not be an objective basis for the beautiful, faith pictures the transcendent glory of God. So by faith, Christian art reaches for the beautiful.

Because he is seeking to develop a Pentecostal aesthetic, Félix-Jäger asks how Pentecostals might specifically approach the beautiful. He answers by drawing on eschatology, noting the historical significance of the end times for Pentecostal faith. I confess to being somewhat sceptical of his argument at this point. If there is one area of Pentecostal history that has a certain absurdity, it is our end times focus. Félix-Jäger recognises as much, and so dispenses with Pentecostal dispensationalism, and draws instead on a “new vision of Pentecostal eschatology” to make his case. But this new vision is more Jürgen Moltmann than it is Pentecostal. Which is no bad thing, because it means that his insight has a broader relevance. Certainly, I find it inspiring to think that “The arts, in their highest achievements, glimpse eternal beauty, and anticipate and give a foretaste of the reality beyond, which is to come. Thus they have a prophetic function” (p.140). At its most profound, art is capable of eliciting the beauty of the divine future, and in so doing helps to transform the present.

In the final part of the book, Félix-Jäger considers the usefulness of art by considering its ability to explore central theological themes. He considers, for example, the relationship between our identity as people made in the divine image and our artistic capacity, in which case art becomes a form of playful co-creativity, an expression of God and humanity enjoying creation together; “since art is play, art for a Christian is creative play with God” (p.169). He then moves on to the more “serious” topics of art as an exploration of themes of redemption, and finally to the place of art in the mission of the church; in prayer, praise, liturgy, and in missional engagement with our cultural context. It is in this setting that he criticises Christian kitsch, which, by its shallow commercialised sentimentality, undermines the substance of the gospel. “Kitsch for art is the theological equivalent of “cheap grace” (p.188). Yes, indeed.

All in all, Pentecostal Aesthetics is an engaging work, and it can only be hoped that its underlying message – that Pentecostal churches should embrace the work of the Spirit in the arts – is taken up.