As villages became towns and towns became empires, human memory hit a ceiling. No one mind could track thousands of debts, laws, and shipments with precision.
Writing begins as accounting: marks that remember for us. Tables, lists, and archives allow institutions to outlive the people who run them. A bureaucracy can now store information, retrieve it, and demand compliance from strangers who never met.
This changes how reality is perceived. The written record starts to outrank personal testimony. Numbers and documents feel objective, even when the categories are invented. Tax codes and censuses slice life into boxes, and those boxes shape policy.
The irony is that writing is both liberation and constraint. It makes large cooperation possible, but it also trains minds to think in forms that fit paperwork. The administrative grid becomes a way of seeing the world.