1:9-11 – Once again, James launches into a topic with a blast of
counter-cultural, upside-down wisdom: it is the poor who should take pride in
their position in life, and not the rich. How could this be true? It is common-sense
knowledge in our culture that having money is a good thing—it provides security
from the stresses and worries of whether you can provide for yourself and your
family; it enables you to satisfy your desires in ways that you otherwise
couldn’t, and it even gives you the means to accomplish great good in the
world, if you’re so inclined to use it that way. If someone wins the lottery,
the event is universally viewed as a stroke of undeniably good fortune. But
James is basically saying, “No, winning the lottery would be an incredible
stroke of bad luck.” The way he describes the condition of being rich—“humiliation”
and “fading away”—makes it clear that “humble circumstances” (poverty) are the
better position in life. Interestingly, for as much as James’ admonition seems
to run against the grain of common sense, it is fairly standard fare for most
of the great moral philosophers of the world’s history: Jesus also gave some
very sharp warnings about the dangers of wealth, as too did Socrates and
Aristotle. The common theme in all these teachings is that the possession of
wealth puts you at a decided disadvantage for the attainment of true virtue.
And, since virtue, and the good character it engenders, is a treasure of far
more worth (and of true eternal value) than the ephemeral comforts of our
material world, it is simply good logical sense that it’s better not to be
wealthy. In fact, modern science has recently backed up this ancient wisdom. In
the very week that I write this, I happened to read an article that cited
several rigorous social-science studies, which showed that rich people are more
likely to shoplift, cheat, commit adultery, and drink to excess than are poor
people. They are also more likely to try to evade taxes, they give
proportionally far less to charity than do the poor, and they even appear to be
significantly less able to exhibit compassion and empathy towards the
suffering. Indeed, there seems to be a very real correlation between the extent
of one’s wealth and the extent of one’s vices. This means that we who are
wealthy (and, on a socio-economic comparison of our society against almost
every other one that has ever existed, this includes most of us) need to take
great care to defend against the dangers of wealth. It will rot our souls from
the inside unless we set up guards against it, and build into our lives the
virtue-engendering habits of simplicity and generosity. The poor then, have a “high
position” of which they ought to be proud. By this, James appears to mean that
they are at an advantage for living the kind of character-forming life that
really matters, that can learn to relate properly to God and which can be a far
greater blessing to others than all the golden hoards of Croesus ever could.
That’s not to say that being poor means that you are ineluctably destined for a virtuous
character, of course; merely that that position offers one greater opportunity for the development of
virtue. Further, it’s clear from the whole testimony of Scripture that God has
compassion on the poor, the suffering, and the lowly, and that he does not take
lightly the injustices of a system whereby the wealthy profit from poor people’s
suffering. In this sense, too, the poor are in a high position, since they have
the empathy of the Almighty keen to their concerns. The rich, meanwhile, are
called to “take pride in their humiliation.” James appears to mean that the
rich are a living parable of what really matters in life, illustrating in their
own broken mortality that wealth is not a worthy end in itself. Where there are
rich people within the ranks of the Christian church, they should keep this
very much in mind: the display of their splendor is allowed under divine
providence for the purpose of demonstrating the surpassingly greater splendor
of those things that persist beyond death’s passage. The wealthy man’s riches
like flowers will fade away, but the works of God in a good man’s heart will
persist forever.
1:12-15 – Verse 12 is often interpreted as
its own, standalone thought, perhaps reflecting back some of the topic of
verses 2 and 3 (persevering through the suffering of trials). It may indeed be
that it refers to that theme; but it may also be that it connects with the
verses that follow it. English translations do not always make this evident,
but the very same Greek word is used
for both “trial” and “temptation” throughout this passage, which allows for a
number of different interpretations. Whether one interprets v.12 as relating to
the hardships of life or to temptations is up for debate, but either reading is
consonant with both Scripture and tradition: we can affirm that the reward of
God is manifest both for those who persevere through hardship and for those who
persevere through temptation, and all good Christians are called upon to “stand
the test” in both these areas. As the reader moves to v.13, it becomes clear that James now has temptation mainly in mind. While there are Bible
passages which indicate that God may introduce or allow trials into a
Christian’s life, James is clear that there is never a time when God actually
tempts someone to sin. Evil is entirely foreign to God’s nature, and it is
metaphysically impossible that his character could ever seek to trip someone up
into sin. So James advises his readers that any excuse that adds up to divine
fatalism (“God made me do it”) cannot be true. Rather, it is we ourselves who
are the main sources of temptation (thus discrediting that other classic
excuse, “The devil made me do it”). It is our own “evil desire” that entices
us. In the Christian tradition, the doctrine of ancestral/original
sin means that human nature itself has been afflicted by a disease of
sinfulness which is beyond our own capacity to heal. This disease has
essentially wired human nature toward the self-centeredness which is the root
of all sinful acts. The old theologians used to say that we were incurvatus in se, curved in upon
ourselves. “Desire” is the way we humans experience the warping of our nature.
While “desire” is an accurate translation of the word James uses in this
passage, I prefer to use the classic Christian term here, “the passions” (not
least because “desire” can also be proper and good, particularly where our
natural desire for God, based in our creation as his image-bearers, is in
view). The passions try to convince us that indulging ourselves is the path to
happiness and fulfillment—whether that’s through an excess or improper
acquisition of money, food, sex, entertainment, or any of a thousand other
things. This sets our sights on the good gifts of God (as food, sex, and
material provision certainly are), and tricks us into making them an end in
themselves, rather than letting them, in their proper place and scope, direct
our joy toward God the Giver. By using God’s good things to make us the center
of our universe rather than God, the passions lead us into sin. And, James
warns, this is the first step on a journey that leads to death. When we give in
to the passions, especially in a habitual way, those choices end up shaping our
character. We become less able to say no in the future after we’ve said yes
multiple times. This is evident not only from Scriptural wisdom, but from
modern neuroscientific discoveries about the way our choices direct the wiring
in our brains. The irony here is clear: although giving in to our passions is
often portrayed in our culture as an embrace of freedom, of throwing off the
tired restraints of narrow-minded religion, the fact of the matter is that it
actually limits our freedom. The more we give in, the less able we are to
choose differently in the future. Freedom is the fruit of discipline, not of
indulgence. And since the shape of our character is what’s at stake, to say
nothing of our relationship with God being put in a dangerous place when we
give in to sin, the stakes cannot be higher in our battle against temptation.
We must, as Basil the Great says, be who we truly are, choosing to act as a ruling
being rather than serving the passions like a slave. The passions do not have
authority to compel us; we can say no, and, for the sake of what we are
becoming, we must. In the words of the Apostle Paul, “Nothing shall be my
master.” As a final point of clarification, however, I should point out that
this does not mean that giving in to a single temptation is the same as falling off
a cliff, without hope of ever regaining one’s footing—no, with the power of the
Holy Spirit working within us, there is always hope that we can begin to rack up consistent victories in the daily battle
against the passions, no matter how long sin has previously held its sway over our habits.