"How or by what magic is it, that we convey our thoughts to one another with such case and accuracy?"
About this Quote
Wonder sneaks in through the back door of a sentence that looks, at first glance, like a technical question. Henry Martyn isn’t really asking for a theory of language; he’s staging astonishment. “How or by what magic” frames communication as a kind of everyday miracle, the sort you stop noticing only because it happens constantly. For a clergyman steeped in providence, “magic” isn’t an endorsement of the occult so much as a rhetorical feint: if the simplest human act feels supernatural, then the world is already humming with evidence of design.
The line works because it’s built on a double take. “Thoughts” are private, intangible, locked behind skull and silence. And yet, Martyn notes, we transmit them “with such ease and accuracy,” as if the mind had a reliable postal service. That pairing matters. Ease suggests grace: something given, not earned. Accuracy suggests order: not chaos, not mere approximation, but a system that reliably maps inner life onto shared symbols. He’s pointing to the strangeness of abstraction becoming communal fact.
Context sharpens the intent. Martyn was an Anglican missionary and translator, living at a moment when Protestant evangelism was inseparable from questions of language: how Scripture moves across tongues, how meaning survives translation, how a divine message can be carried by human mouths. Read that way, the “we” is doing quiet theological labor. Communication becomes a model of faith itself: unseen realities made legible, one person’s inner conviction crossing into another’s understanding, by means that feel too elegant to be accidental.
The line works because it’s built on a double take. “Thoughts” are private, intangible, locked behind skull and silence. And yet, Martyn notes, we transmit them “with such ease and accuracy,” as if the mind had a reliable postal service. That pairing matters. Ease suggests grace: something given, not earned. Accuracy suggests order: not chaos, not mere approximation, but a system that reliably maps inner life onto shared symbols. He’s pointing to the strangeness of abstraction becoming communal fact.
Context sharpens the intent. Martyn was an Anglican missionary and translator, living at a moment when Protestant evangelism was inseparable from questions of language: how Scripture moves across tongues, how meaning survives translation, how a divine message can be carried by human mouths. Read that way, the “we” is doing quiet theological labor. Communication becomes a model of faith itself: unseen realities made legible, one person’s inner conviction crossing into another’s understanding, by means that feel too elegant to be accidental.
Quote Details
| Topic | Deep |
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