Fable
The letter city without street numbers
The postmen of Xincheng used to look only at what was written on the envelope. When the city was small, "to the pharmacy next to the blacksmith shop" was enough, because everyone remembered the order of the streets and alleys.
As the city expanded, more and more similar shops appeared. The same sentence placed at the front is a condition, placed at the end it is a conclusion; the same name appearing early or late represents a completely different relationship.
The postal official first demanded that letters be written in more detail. So envelopes were stuffed with descriptions, and the mail carriers read longer, yet still confused "inspect goods before payment" with "pay before inspecting goods."
Someone proposed sorting the shops alphabetically. The sorted booklet was tidy, but the real streets were broken apart, making it harder for the postman to know how far apart two locations were along the route.
A surveyor proposed adding position markers to every street, every door number, every corner. The markers did not replace the letter's content; they only told the courier: where does this sentence stand within the whole letter, and how far is it from other sentences.
After the new system went live, the postmen began to understand order. Promises, conditions, exceptions, and supplementary notes no longer floated on the page, but had relationships of before and after.
Later, as letters grew into long scrolls, the postmaster discovered that positional markers themselves also affected cost and extrapolation ability. Fixed street numbers were easy to manage, but failed when a new district grew too long; markers that could vary with distance were better suited to long routes. The surveyor gave another example: the same sentence, "Do not open the door unless the night watchman returns," would flip in meaning if the exception were placed in the wrong position. Positional markers let the courier know which sentence restricts which sentence, and which passage applies only to nearby content. The postmaster also had new couriers practice with long scrolls. In short letters, proximity relations are easy to see; in long letters, a promise at the beginning may constrain an exception at the end. Without positional markers, the courier would mismatch distant words and split apart conditions that were originally adjacent. Later, when reading letters, couriers would look at both content and position. Word meaning provides the material; position provides the relations. Missing either one leads to misdelivery. The courier said, order is also part of meaning. The longer the scroll, the less this can rely on intuition.
Xincheng finally understood: content itself carries no sense of order; the system must have another way to tell it "what comes first, what comes later, what is near what." Without position, language becomes a bag of scattered words.