Whom It May Concern

Sophia. Right. Let's actually do this today. Someone give me a sentence with “should” in it.

Marcos. Me and Philo should copy the scroll before the ink fades.

Sophia. (pausing) Good instinct on “should.” Now — would you ever say “Me should copy the scroll,” alone, without Philo standing next to you?

Marcos. No, obviously not. “I should copy the scroll.”

Sophia. Then why did “me” survive the moment you added a second person to the sentence?

Marcos. I don't know. It just sounded fine with Philo standing next to it.

Sophia. It sounds fine to nearly everyone, which is exactly the trouble. Sit — modal verbs will keep one more day. That's twice now I've said “tomorrow” and meant something else by it.

Sophia. Every pronoun standing for a person or thing carries one of three shapes, depending on the job it's doing. Doing the action — subject case: I, you, he, she, it, we, they. Having something done to it — object case: me, you, him, her, it, us, them. Showing ownership — possessive: my, your, his, her, its, our, their. “Me” is object case. It cannot do the action of “should copy” alone, and standing Philo next to it doesn't change its case — it only hides the mistake behind a second name.

Marcos. So how do I know which one to use?

Sophia. Drop the other name and listen. “Me should copy the scroll” sounds wrong to you immediately. Whatever sounds right alone is the one that belongs once someone else joins it. “Philo and I should copy the scroll.”

Sophia. There's a cousin of “me” that causes trouble from the opposite direction. “Give the scroll to Philo and myself.”

Philo. That's wrong too, isn't it. “Myself” isn't standing in for anyone doing an action back to me.

Sophia. Exactly the shape of the error. -self pronouns exist for two jobs only: reflecting an action back onto its own subject — “I taught myself Hebrew” — or intensifying, for emphasis — “I taught myself, personally.” They are not a fancier-sounding replacement for “me” whenever you feel shy about saying it plainly. “Give the scroll to Philo and me” is correct. “Myself” has no action here bouncing back to reflect.

Sophia. The same case system governs one more pair that nearly this entire city has surrendered on: “who” and “whom.” “Who” is subject case, exactly like “he.” “Whom” is object case, exactly like “him.” Test it the same way — answer the question with “he” or “him” and match whichever one fits. “Who wrote this scroll?” — “He wrote it” — subject, so “who” is correct. “Whom did you give the scroll to?” — “You gave it to him” — object, so “whom” is correct.

Marcos. Nobody actually says “whom.”

Sophia. Not in the market, no. On a page, in this room, for as long as I am the one marking your tablets, you will still know which one is which.

Sophia. Now a family that doesn't point at anyone in particular at all. “Someone left this open.” “Everyone finished early.” “Few understood the second half.” Notice — some of you used “few” a lesson ago as a quantifier sitting in front of a noun: “few pupils.” Today it's standing entirely alone, doing a noun's own job with no noun attached. Same word, different family, depending on whether it's leaning on something or standing by itself.

Demetria. So how do you know which pronoun to use afterward — “everyone finished early, and they went home,” or “he went home”?

Sophia. That question has become a genuine argument in your own lifetime, not only mine. “Everyone” is grammatically singular — it takes “finishes,” not “finish.” Strict older usage wants a singular pronoun to match it: “and he went home,” using “he” to stand for absolutely anyone. Most speakers now, and increasingly most careful writers, use “they” instead, in part because “he” quietly excluded half the room for centuries of that usage. Both choices are defensible. Know that you are choosing, and know why.

Sophia. One more family, and the shortest. “This,” “that,” “these,” “those” — pointing at something instead of naming it. “This is unacceptable, Marcos.” Singular, near. “Those are Philo's.” Plural, far. The same four words can stand alone as pronouns, the way I just used them, or lean on a noun as modifiers instead — “this scroll,” “those pupils” — which is worth noticing, since it means not every “this” you meet is doing a pronoun's job at all.

Philo. In Hebrew, most of what you've called a separate word this morning isn't separate at all. “My book” is one word — sifri — book with “my” fastened directly onto its end, not standing beside it the way your “my” does. Pronouns lean on the noun, and often the verb too: r'iti-ha — “I saw her” — with “her” riding on the verb itself rather than standing free.

Sophia. So even the freedom to stand alone, the way English's pronouns do, is a choice one family of languages made and another didn't.

Philo. Which makes me notice something about the name again. No — don't look at me like that. I promise this is the last time today.

Sophia. Go on.

Philo. Every pronoun needs an antecedent — something said earlier that tells you who “he” or “it” or “this” actually is. “I” is the one pronoun that names itself completely without needing anything before it. You know who “I” is the instant it's spoken, from anyone's mouth, in any sentence, with nothing said first. Ehyeh doesn't borrow its reference from anywhere earlier in the story. It's the one word that never needed an antecedent to begin with.

Sophia. Which is precisely what you found in the existence-use, two lessons ago, arriving now by an entirely different road. I begin to think you will find it inside every lesson I teach for the rest of the year, Philo, whether I put it there or not.

Philo. I keep finding it already there.

Sophia. So you keep telling me.

Marcos. So. Modal verbs.

Sophia. Tomorrow. Genuinely. Possibly. Go — and if anyone says “myself” to me by accident on the way out, you're copying the case table twice.