The law of death in sin applies to other sins besides the so-called sexual sins which write their history so plainly in the body and the mind and bring a heritage of woe through all the family history. There is here no sowing of wild oats to raise a crop of wheat. The fearful fidelity of modern scientific knowledge throws a lurid light on this passage in James. The sinner makes his bed and lies down in it and drags down with him the helpless ones who are thrown in his care.
As I am writing I receive a copy of Light, a magazine published by the World’s Purity Federation. The issue for November, 1914, contains an article by a woman who has lived “twenty-five years in the underworld.” Her story reads like a commentary on the words of James. She claims to have had the best of that sordid life, but she concludes: “No matter what humiliation a girl has to endure, it is better to endure it than to get into this life. There is nothing in it for any of them. The very best of us get it hard before we die. And, at the best, it is Hell.” The issue of death is seen not merely in the diseases of the body but “also in the deterioration of mind and character which accompanies every kind of sin” (Mayor, in loco). Death and hell then claim their own.
God, the Source of Good (1:16 f.)
The contrast is sharp. “Be not deceived”; do not wander so in your minds as to think that temptation and sin and death come from God. He is not the source of evil. Rabbi Chaninah says: “No evil thing cometh down from above.” Note Jesus in John 8:23 on “above” and “below.” James is tenderly affectionate in his appeal on this point—“my beloved brethren.” On the contrary, only good comes from God. God is good, and he alone is absolutely good (Mark 10:18).[59] In the Greek the next sentence runs like a hexameter line if one short syllable is considered long by stress of the meter.[60] We need not tarry over a fanciful straining after poetical lines in prose. Oesterley agrees with Ewald in seeing here a quotation from a Hellenistic poem. It is far more likely just accidental rhythm common enough in good prose. The scholars differ also as to how to translate the sentence. Moffatt has it: “All we are given is good, and all our endowments are faultless.”
“The Father of lights” sets God over against the worship of the sun so common among the ancients. Plato (Repub. vi. 505 ff.) compares the sun to the idea of the good. Modern science powerfully illustrates this comparison of James in bringing out what we owe to the sun in the way of light, heat, and life itself. Philo calls God “the Father of the all,” the lights (the moon and the stars) and all else in the universe. “When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?” (Psalm 8:3 f.). Compare Philippians 2:15. God is not only light (1 John 1:5), but all true light comes from him—all the light that lights every man coming into the world (John 1:9).
But the sun appears to move rapidly. Watch the sun drop like a ball of fire at sunset and thus cast a deepening shadow over the earth. The sundial is one of the oldest ways to mark “the shadow that is cast by turning.” Mayor quotes Plutarch (Percl. 7) for the use of this figure for shadows cast on the dial. James is here, of course, using popular language, as we still do when we say that the sun rises and sets. But with our Father of lights there is “no change of rising and setting” (Moffatt). He “casts no shadow on the earth.” Even the polestar, we now know, whirls on in space, carrying the worlds along with it. But our God is not changeable or whimsical. He does not send now good, now ill. He knows how to give good gifts to those that ask him, yea, the best of all gifts, the Holy Spirit (Luke 11:13). What seems ill is really good if it comes from God. If one takes his stand by God’s side and looks at his life, he sees God’s plan as a whole for his own life and for God’s glory.
The New Birth (1:18)
“So far from God tempting us to evil, his will is the cause of our regeneration” (Mayor). He is our Father in a double sense. We owe our original birth to God, in whose image we are made (Gen. 2:7). We owe our spiritual birth likewise to God, who begat us again to a living hope (1 Peter 1:3). The Mishnah (Surenh., iv. 116) says: “A man’s father only brought him forth into this world: his teacher, who taught him wisdom, brings him into the life of the world to come.” Happy is the father who leads his child also to Christ. But while the word of truth is the instrument used in the instruction (a pointed lesson for parents, teachers, preachers), the actual work of regeneration is due to God as Father, yes, and as Mother also, for the word “brought forth” is the one used of the mother (see by contrast v. 15).
The doctrine of grace here set forth is of a piece with that in Paul’s writings (Rom. 12:2; Eph. 1:5), those of Peter (1 Peter 1:3), and of John (1:13). Indeed, Jesus himself is quoted as saying: “Ye did not choose me, but I chose you” (John 15:16). As the seed of sin produces death, so the seed of God produces life (1 John 3:9). It is interesting to note this piece of fundamental theology in so practical a writer as James, who lays special emphasis on works as proof of life. But James has no such idea as some careless and shallow theologians who think that a man can galvanize himself into spiritual life by imitative ethics. The man must be born again, as Jesus said so impressively to Nicodemus (John 3:3). The miracle of birth must precede growth and development.
We are not to puzzle ourselves too much over the mysteries of spiritual biology. We know that the impulse and purpose[61] come from God (John 1:13). What we do know is that God honors and uses the word of truth, both spoken and written. If this is true, what a responsibility belongs to us for diligence and urgency in the use of the word of truth.