The complete mastery of the steersman over the ship is accented by a comparison of the size of the ancient boats with horses. “Behold, even the ships” (probably we are to translate “even” rather than “also”), which, though they are so great (cf. 2 Cor. 1:10), “are yet turned about by the impulse of the steersman,” even when they are being driven by rough winds (if here again we translate “even” instead of “also”). One is reminded of the boat in which Jesus and the disciples were crossing the Sea of Galilee “now in the midst of the sea, distressed by the waves” (Matt. 14:24). The “rough winds” (cf. Prov. 27:16), “stiff winds” (Moffatt), were particularly dangerous for the small (from our standpoint) ships of the ancients. But the steersman could hold to his course even over a rough sea.
The point of James about the size of the ships would apply with far more force today, when modern leviathans of the deep plow the waters. There is now less peril from the stiff winds, but there is all the more ground for wonder that the tiny rudder can control at will the giant of the ocean. The steersman can drive the mighty monster straight upon an iceberg and sink it in a few minutes, as in the crash of the Titanic. Great as the ship is, the silent forces of nature are still greater. Man has not yet mastered all the powers of nature. But the ship, blind to its fate, responded to the will of the steersman, who dashed against the iceberg.
The lesson is only too obvious. One must watch the tongue if he is to avoid shipwreck. The tongue may dash the whole life in blind rage against God. The ship is one of the most beautiful of objects as it rides the waves in proud majesty. But more beautiful still is a life that is not marred by bad or bitter words. Plutarch (De Garrulitate, 10) says that speech beyond control is like a ship out at sea, broken loose from its moorings.
The Fire and the Forest (3:5 f.)
The power of the tongue over the body in general is shown by the bridle and the rudder. Now the power of the tongue for evil is specifically illustrated by the metaphor of fire. True, the tongue is a little member, and yet it “boasteth great things,” “can boast of great exploits” (Moffatt).
It is not a mere empty boast that the tongue can make. It is hard to exaggerate the power of the tongue, which is able to sway great multitudes for good or ill, to stir the wildest passions of man to uncontrollable fury, or to exalt men to the highest emotions of their natures. The tongue can soothe the dying or damn the living. The tongue can sing like a songbird or growl like a lion. The tongue can speak words of tenderest love or of venomous hate. It can speak like a megaphone in trumpet tones or in a whisper almost inaudible save to an eager ear. Plummer tells the story of Amasis, king of Egypt, who sent a sacrifice to Bias the sage with the request that he send back the best part and the worst. He sent back the tongue.
James adds, “Behold, how much wood is kindled by how small a fire,” “what a forest is set ablaze by a little spark of fire” (Moffatt). The figure is that of timber or woodland rather than a pile of wood. Mayor quotes Milton: “Into what pit thou seest from what height fallen.” The inflammatory Oriental audience with the high pitch of voice, confusion of tongues, and wild gesticulation is aptly compared to a forest fire (Oesterley).[78]
There is pathos in the dreadful forest fires that annually devastate our country. The damage each year amounts to several hundred millions of dollars, besides the injury to future generations in the loss of the blessings in many ways from the forests. In most instances these forest fires, which rage with uncontrollable fury when the wind gets up, are due to accident or mischief. A spark from an engine, a cigarette thrown in the leaves, a burning match cast to one side by a hunter, a smoldering campfire, a shot from a gun—these and other like causes explain most of the conflagrations.
The situation is so serious that the national government has a fire patrol to guard the forest reserves. Once a prairie fire starts there is hardly any stopping it till it burns out. Mice and matches cause over twelve hundred fires each year in New York City. Only a start is needed, a start long enough to get beyond control, and we have the horrible holocausts of Chicago, Baltimore, Boston, San Francisco. “A burning fire kindles many heaps of corn” (Sir. 11:32). The scholiast on this verse adds, “There is nothing which more devastates the world than an evil tongue.” Nero set fire to Rome to see the grandeur of the spectacle, and he fiddled while the city burned. Similar irresponsibility is seen often in the reckless use of the tongue. We should not light a fire which can blaze beyond our control.
So James adds, “And the tongue is a fire.” See Proverbs 16:27, “And in his lips there is a scorching fire.” Compare Sirach 28:21-23. “The effect is that of an underground flame, concealed for a while, then breaking out afresh” (Carr). Indeed, “the world of iniquity among our members is the tongue,” “the tongue proves a very world of mischief among our members” (Moffatt). The tongue was made for good use and in itself is good, but it has been prostituted to evil. So here the very word for “is” (cf. 4:4, “maketh himself”) brings out this distinction. The tongue “is constituted” so, is not so by nature. Now we say that a man’s tongue has run away with him. The tongue has made a career for itself, “the world [realm] of iniquity,” “the unrighteous world” (Hort). It was made the best of members but has run riot till it has become the personification of injustice and all sorts of wrong. The Vulgate has it here universitas iniquitatis rather than mundus. One thinks of our use of “university,” a world in itself for good or ill.