The Epistle of Saint James

N the last four hundred years, the book of Saint James has had an uneviable record of ironic fortunes. Because of Luther's flippant remark that it was "an epistle of straw" in comparison with the Pauline correspondence, it has endured a kind of official disdain. On the other hand, because it lends itself easily to quotation (or misquotation), it has suffered wide popularity with the masses (e.g., Jas. 1:12, 17, 19b, 22, 27; 2:10, 17, 26; 4:8a, 17; 5:llb, 12b, 15a, 16, 20, are passages known by almost everyone). It has, moreover, been the occasion of two bitter controversies, the effects of which still plague us when we read commentaries on the book. They are, of course, the Roman Catholic-Protestant debate about the relative merits of faith and works; and the liberal-conservative quarrel about the unanimity or diversity of the primitive church. The book, however, demands, first of all, an attempt simply to appreciate it as it is, critical examination being left for another time. Such an effort is here proposed. Two points only will receive attention: the literary characteristics of the book and its religious qualities. The presentation, in no sense original, is based solely on an inspection of the Greek version (a fact which must be remembered in looking up any of the citations). The appearance, early in the epistle, of a line of verse should make us immediately aware of the author's employment of literary devices. This verse, one of the best known in the book (1:17), is in that most usual of all Greek poetic forms, the dactylic hexameter. Its source has not yet been discovered. Another technique is alliteration, of the letter "p" in 1:2, of the same letter in 3:2, and of "d" in 3:8. The word-play in 1:1, 2 (charein-charan) should also be noted. But these externals are by no means the most significant literary features. There are others, especially the attractive naturesimiles: the picturesque description of green grass withering beneath the scorching heat of the Levantine sun (1:11), a terrified glimpse of a raging forest fire (3:5),the magic of early morning mist vanishing into thin air before our eyes (4:14), and the welcome refreshment of rain after a dry season (5 :7). The author alludes briefly to the sight of the waves of the Mediterranean, driven by fierce winds, lashing the coastal areas (1:6). He utilizes the great ships, their sails billowing in the wind, hurrying to a safe port, guided not by the storm but by the small rudder, as an effective illustration of man's conquest of the elements (3:4). A still wider suggestion of nature-simile or metaphor lies back of the phrase, "the cycle of nature" or "the wheel of birth" (3:6) ; it may be a vague reference to Orphism, or it may be a vivid term for the ceaseless circling of the seasons, in all climates one of the most impressive transactions of the cosmic year. It is certainly open to question whether our author was merely a pedant dipping into other books for his sprightlier touches. That possibility is obvious among many writers and should not be overlooked here. On the other hand, his intimations have a delicacy about them which seems to imply a lively appreciation of nature. But whether derived from previous reading or from direct observation, they are introduced appropriately and artis* ALLEN CABANISS is Professor of History at the University of Mississippi. During the session of 1952-53, Dr. Cabaniss was a member of the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, New Jersey.