Taming the Tongue: The Disproportionate Influence of Small Things

James’s first illustration draws from the world of horsemanship, something that would have been immediately familiar to his ancient audience. The horses James had in mind weren’t the gentle ponies we might picture in modern petting zoos, but the magnificent Roman war horses—massive, powerful animals bred and trained for battle.

These war horses were formidable creatures, standing as tall as seventeen hands high and weighing over a 450kg. They were trained not only for speed and endurance but also to charge into battle without flinching, to strike with their hooves, and to serve as weapons themselves. Roman cavalry was feared throughout the ancient world, and much of that fear centred on these incredible animals.

Yet for all their size and power, these mighty beasts could be controlled by a simple bit—a small piece of metal placed in the horse’s mouth. The bit doesn’t overcome the horse through brute force; it works through leverage and the animal’s trained response to pressure. When the rider applies pressure through the reins, the bit creates discomfort that the horse seeks to avoid by moving in the desired direction.

The principle is profound: Enormous power can be directed by something relatively tiny when that small thing is properly positioned and skilfully employed. The key isn’t the size of the controlling mechanism but its strategic placement and the knowledge of how to use it effectively.

This is precisely how our tongues function in relation to our entire lives. Though the tongue weighs only a few ounces compared to our total body weight, it is strategically positioned to direct the course of our entire existence. Just as a skilled horseman can guide a war horse through proper use of the bit, we can direct our whole lives through careful control of our speech.

James’s second illustration shifts from land to sea, from horses to ships. Ancient ships were impressive vessels, some measuring over 30m in length and capable of carrying hundreds of passengers or tons of cargo. These weren’t small fishing boats but major commercial and military vessels that represented the height of ancient engineering.

More significantly, these ships operated in an environment where they were subject to forces far beyond human control. Mediterranean storms could arise suddenly, with fierce winds capable of driving even the largest vessels off course or onto dangerous rocks. The power of wind and wave was something no human could master or overcome through strength alone.

Yet even when these massive ships were being driven by fierce winds—forces representing the uncontrollable circumstances of life—they could still be guided by a very small rudder. The rudder, like the bit in the horse’s mouth, doesn’t overcome the larger forces through superior power. Instead, it works by redirecting those forces, using the very wind and current that might otherwise prove destructive to move the ship toward its intended destination.

The skilled pilot doesn’t fight against the wind but works with it, using the rudder to harness natural forces for productive purposes. This requires wisdom, experience, and constant attention. The pilot must understand wind patterns, read the sea conditions, and make continuous adjustments to keep the vessel on course.

This illustration speaks powerfully to how our tongues can direct our lives even when we face circumstances beyond our control. We cannot control how others treat us, what difficulties arise, or what challenges we encounter. But we can control how we respond verbally to these situations, and our verbal responses will largely determine where these experiences take us.

James concludes this section by making the connection explicit: “So also the tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great things.” The word “boasts” here doesn’t necessarily carry negative connotations; it can simply mean “claims” or “asserts.” The tongue claims great things—it asserts significant influence and power.

This power manifests in numerous ways. Our words can build up or tear down relationships that took years to establish. A careless comment can destroy a reputation; an encouraging word can change someone’s entire perspective on life. What we say about ourselves shapes not only how others see us but how we see ourselves. Our speech patterns reveal and reinforce our thought patterns, creating cycles that can be either virtuous or destructive.

Consider how speech affects our relationship with God. Words of gratitude and praise cultivate hearts of worship and appreciation. Complaints and criticisms foster discontent and distance from divine goodness. When we speak about God’s faithfulness, we reinforce our own trust in him. When we voice doubts and fears, we can actually strengthen those negative emotions.

The same principle applies to our relationships with others. Harsh words create distance and defensiveness. Kind words build bridges and foster intimacy. Critical speech trains our minds to look for faults. Appreciative speech helps us notice and celebrate goodness in those around us.

What makes the tongue’s influence even more significant is its ripple effect. Unlike the bit that only affects the horse it is placed in, or the rudder that only guides the ship it is attached to, our words have the power to influence multiple people across extended periods of time.

A word of encouragement spoken to a discouraged person might not only lift their spirit but inspire them to encourage others, creating a chain reaction of positivity. Conversely, a piece of gossip shared with one person rarely stops there—it spreads from person to person, often growing and becoming distorted in the process, sometimes causing damage far beyond what the original speaker ever intended.

This is why James will later describe the tongue as a fire that can set ablaze an entire forest. Our words don’t merely affect the immediate situation; they continue working long after we’ve spoken them. They live on in the memories of those who heard them, shaping thoughts, influencing decisions, and affecting other conversations.

Understanding the disproportionate influence of our tongues should make us more thoughtful about our speech. Just as a horse rider must be skilled and responsible in using the bit, and a ship’s pilot must be knowledgeable and careful in directing the rudder, we must approach our speech with wisdom and reverence.

This doesn’t mean we should become so cautious that we rarely speak. Both horses and ships are meant to be guided, not left motionless out of fear of making mistakes. Rather, we should become increasingly skilled in using our tongues for constructive purposes, learning to harness their power for good rather than allowing them to create destruction.

The goal is to become like the skilled horseman who can guide a powerful steed with gentle but firm direction, or like the experienced pilot who can navigate safely through storms by making careful adjustments to the rudder. We want to develop the wisdom and discipline necessary to use our tongues’ great power in ways that honour God and benefit others.

The encouraging aspect of James’s illustrations is that both horsemen and pilots are made, not born. The skills required to control horses or navigate ships are developed through training, practice, and experience. Similarly, the ability to control our tongues grows through conscious effort, consistent practice, and dependence on God’s Spirit.

Every conversation provides an opportunity to practice tongue control. Each challenging situation becomes a chance to learn how to speak in ways that direct our lives towards godly outcomes rather than destructive ones. Over time, what initially requires conscious effort begins to become more natural, though we never outgrow our need for vigilance and humility.

The small tongue that boasts of great things need not boast of great destruction. Through God’s grace and our committed effort, it can instead boast of great good—lives directed towards righteousness, relationships built up in love, and glory given to the God who transforms hearts and guides our words.