Connections
What is Pragmatism by James Bissett Pratt
1909; The Macmillan Company
Condition: Good
June 17, 2026
Why do I love old books?
I know, I know…it’s a weird and dangerous question. “Weird” because if one’s a bibliophile – especially one who’s into old books – it almost seems like too obvious a question to ask, much less answer. And “dangerous?” Well, questioning what we take for granted can often lead to some uncomfortable soul searching, and who wants that? Along that path can lie madness, or at least discontent.
But being a mildly weird and even more mildly dangerous person, lately I’ve been trying to ask myself this question. And after battling back a lot of pat answers and chasing away a lot of high-minded (but chock-full of bullshit) sentiments, I’ve managed to boil it down for myself to one word: connection.
Because the filter of history can be so harsh, when a book a century or two old makes it into my hands, I can be sure that it’s survived a lot to make it there and has been the beneficiary of a lot of luck and circumstance. Because it’s survived the great winnowing of Time, I like to believe that it connects me in some way to all of the years and people it had to pass through to get to me. “History” transforms from abstract facts to an actual object I’m now holding in my hands, an object that has been held by other human beings who led real lives and either cared enough about what I’m holding to make sure it survived into the future or played some part in real human action and circumstance that led to the book’s survival. No matter how the book I’m holding made it into my hands, when I hold it I’m directly connected to those who held it before and am now directly connected to their own stories, even if only by the flimsiest thread.
I really acutely felt this connection with one recent acquisition. And while we’ve acquired books before from the libraries of famous people – politicians, scholars, founders of universities – what really struck me about this book wasn’t that the people who owned it in the past were famous in one way or another, but that they likely owned this book during their most formative years and that this exact books may have influenced who they later became.
The book was a humble-looking copy of What is Pragmatism by James Bissett Pratt. Published in 1909 by The Macmillan Company, it’s a highly-influential philosophical treatise on the concept of pragmatism, placing it in the context of other philosophical approaches such as idealism and realism. (You can read it here on Internet Archive if you’d like.)
An important addition to philosophical thought in the 20th century, for sure, but a fairly obscure one that appeals to a niche audience. But then I looked inside the front cover and noticed a faintly penciled signature reading “J.W. Alexander, II” on the flyleaf.
That’s it. No ornate bookplate, no dedication from an earnest friend gifting the book, no sentimental inscription. Just a simple signature penciled into a book, seemingly for no other reason than to indicate ownership.
I can’t say why I wanted to know more about the person who owned this philosophy book, but there was something about the signature’s honest and straightforward nature that made me want to find out who the person who owned this book was.
And I was blown away.
I was worried that because the name sounded so common I'd have a hard time digging through the noise Google would return, but it turned out that “J.W. Alexander, II” was a big enough deal that it was clear right away who he was…even if he’s mostly unknown today.
J.W. Alexander II was possibly one of the most influential mathematicians for the 20th century. Born in Sea Bright, NJ (coincidentally right near where my father is from), Alexander was the son of the well-known American portrait painter John White Alexander and grandson of James Waddell Alexander, wealthy president of the Equitable Life Assurance Society. He grew up in the privilege of Gilded Age society and attended Princeton University where he studied mathematics.
After serving in World War I, Alexander returned to teach at Princeton where he focused on the new mathematical discipline of topology.
It was at Princeton where his career really took off, allowing him to be chosen – along with better known geniuses such as Albert Einstein and Kurt Godel – as one of the founding faculty of the Institute for Advanced Study, the quirky and highly influential academic institution founded by heirs to the Bamberger department store fortune with a $5 million endowment in 1932. Featuring intellectual giants such as Alexander, Einstein, Godel, van Neumann, and Oppenheimer, it’s probably safe to say that the world we know today wouldn’t exist if the IAS hadn’t.
Despite his gilded roots, Alexander became well-known for his Socialist views and co-signed a letter defending Robert Oppenheimer when he was targeted by Senator Joseph McCarthy’s witch hunts. Always a private man, this foray into the public eye didn’t sit well with Alexander, and after helping to fight the good fight in 1954, he retreated into seclusion until his death in 1971. Read more about him on his Wikipedia page.
While all of this was fascinating, what really blew me away was learning that, Alexander was probably only a junior or a senior at Princeton when he neatly penciled his signature in the very copy of What is Pragmatism I hold in my hand.
A person who’d likely argued science and mathematics with some of the greatest minds of the 20th century owned this book. His ideas may have been informed by this exact copy of this book. This felt staggering.
Far from simply reading about some of the most important people and events of the 20th century, I was now connected in a very real way.
And that’s why I love old books.
