In “Economic Sociology,â€� Charles A. Dana Professor of Sociology Francesco Duina presents students with a social and philosophical question. 

“I ask, ‘How many of you like a lot of inequality?’ Usually none of them raises their hands. But then I say, ‘How many of you would want perfect equality?’â€� He shakes his head. “Nobody raises their hand. They’ve never thought of that.â€� 

Duina brings questions like these to his classes, never revealing much about his beliefs because his focus is on helping students examine their own tendencies. 

“So, where are you and why? Why do you accept some degree of inequality?� he asks.

Students are thus encouraged to understand or at least see their own ways of justifying the world around them, including inequalities. His most recent book has a similar aim. 

The Social Acceptance of Inequality: On the Logics of a More Unequal World (Oxford 2025), a collection that Duina co-edited with Luca Storti, an associate professor of economic sociology at the University of Turin, Italy, dives in deep on why people across the world accept economic inequalities (understood to be those related to income and wealth). The question is all the more salient because over the past several decades economic inequalities have in most cases grown a great deal. In other words, the real issue is actually not why small inequalities are accepted, but why massive amounts of inequalities are in fact accepted, and even approved of, by significant amounts of people. 

Using four logics of acceptance as a framework for the vastly different contexts across the globe from which their 19 contributors write, the book makes visible to readers the assumptions, biases, and worldviews that people bring to their thinking about inequality. 

This interview with Duina has been lightly edited for clarity and space. 

Meredith McCarroll: You write, in the introduction, that while there is a range of feelings about increased economic inequalities, the aim of the book is to focus on “the logics by which these inequalities are accepted.â€� How did you and your co-editor come to determine the need for this volume? 

Francesco Duina: Inequalities have gone up in most cases, and so we chose this because there’s so much written about how bad these things are and why they’re bad and what we can do about it. And there isn’t a whole lot written about why people accept them when they do. We were very eager to understand that acceptance — it is, after all, a major factor that sustains those inequalities and something that we may want to grasp if we in fact want to do something about those inequalities.  

MM: So why an edited collection? 

FD: Because matters are so complicated. If you’re really interested in the question of why economic inequalities are accepted across the world by a wide variety of people, you need extensive knowledge and expertise. No single person can have that. Who am I to write about Southeast Asia and Latin America and Scandinavia and the United States and China? We figured that if we collect various perspectives and voices, and we get a much bigger umbrella and better coverage, then we can really figure things out a little bit.

Of course, we recognize that there are works in different disciplines, such as economics or psychology, that point to single logics of acceptance. Our goal was to identify and contrast and compare all the major logics, and to see what we can conclude by doing so.  

MM: You outline in the introduction four logics of acceptance: market/economic, moral, group, and cultural. Can you briefly describe those four logics? 

FD: Sure. In a shorter piece that we are publishing about the book, by the way, we are actually calling them “justificationsâ€� for the inequalities. The term might be a little easier to grasp than ‘“logicsâ€� of acceptance. 

So, when it comes to market/economic logics, people accept inequalities because they believe that they are byproducts of a well-functioning economic system. Trying to eliminate inequalities would mean that wealth production overall would be reduced, investments would go to the wrong places, innovation would be discouraged, and philanthropy would suffer. Importantly, these sorts of logics do not see inequalities as desirable but as inevitable outcomes to be tolerated given what else is being promoted.

Next, we have moral logics, which are based on notions of fairness and justice. In this case, inequalities are seen as actually something that is desirable. There is something good in them. For instance, if you worked hard you deserve to have more. And of course they take different articulations, including inheritance, where one might say, “Well, it’s my grandfather’s.â€� If asked, what does it have to do with you, we hear, “Well, in the end, it is fair that it comes to me rather than to somebody else because I am of that lineage.â€� 

Group logics offer a third ground for acceptance. These are the hardest to see in practice … at least in their purest form. They are predicated on the idea that a group is, by virtue of who they are and not necessarily what they have done, entitled to more. The clearest example I can think of is the caste system in India. It’s preordained religiously. So the upper caste should have more — it doesn’t matter if they sit around and just do nothing — by virtue of who they are. You see articulations of this in Scandinavia. The Danes believe they are more entitled to the welfare system than immigrants. For instance, they resist giving those immigrants many years of unemployment benefits. Why? Well, some would say that it’s “because we’re Danes. They’re not.â€� Of course here many would quickly add that they have worked hard to contribute to that system — and in this regard their logic is also moral. 

Racial distinctions are also at work in group logics. Gender distinctions, age distinctions, and even class distinctions fit into this mindset. 

The fourth set of logics is cultural. In the case of the United States, for instance, the American Dream is a pervasive set of ideas that most people know about. Most of us grew up with it, and assume it is a fair description of what life in this society is like. You’re going to go from poor to rich if you do the right things. It is easy to see how someone who is born and raised in this cultural milieu might be quite likely to tolerate inequalities. Inequalities “make sense’â€� given what Americans know about their society and world. 

MM: What is new about your volume? What contributions do you see it making to the field or beyond?

FD: Multiple perspectives and an appreciation for the fact that income and wealth inequalities manifest themselves in different settings. And that the same inequality means different things in different places, comes from different places, is or is not problematic in different ways, and is sustained in similar or different ways. Sometimes we find the same logics at work across the world. Others can be more very peculiar to a place. The collection offers an ability to see how the logics themselves compare to, and differ from, each other.

MM: What role do you hope the book might play in terms of solutions to this problem of growing inequality? 

FD: There is already so much written on solutions. We knew that if we wanted to stay consistent with the message of the book, we needed to focus on the logics. We are therefore asking whether there are things in the logics themselves that someone interested in reducing inequalities could tackle. Are there unfounded biases in the logics? Are there faulty assumptions? If the logics themselves inherently have contradictions and or faulty elements, highlighting those things could dissuade some people at least from embracing them  

MM: Are there ways that this approach shows up in your teaching? Is part of your work making the invisible visible? Just allowing students to see that this is part of what’s shaping their core understanding of inequality or fairness? 

FD: Yes. I think my role is to shed light on things. Then students can draw their own conclusions, but the light helps to dissipate the cloudiness and the fog. That’s my goal.

This week ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ President Garry W. Jenkins joined Stefanie Manning, Maine Trust for Local News’ managing director, for a public conversation about his leadership and journey to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½.

Held at the Roux Institute in Portland, the Sept. 17 conversation was the latest installment in , which invites local business and community leaders for conversations about their work, including challenges they’ve faced and lessons they’ve learned along the way. Lewiston Mayor Carl Sheline and a number of ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ alumni were among the more than 100 attendees.

One theme of discussion was the value of education for Jenkins, both personally and universally. He spoke of his early years in the public school system, and his experiences at the private liberal arts school he attended, Haverford College, as well as the large public universities he worked at prior to coming to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ in 2023. He described the powerful, formative impact growing up with parents who were educators themselves had on him, and reflected that his own experience steered him toward ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½, a place that quickly felt like home to him, and which has given him a sense of optimism. 

“The students are kind,â€� Jenkins said. “They’re thoughtful. They are interested in making a difference in whatever way that means for them, and they’re open to that exploration. That makes me excited for the future.â€� 

Watch the full conversation embedded below.

During an open Q&A, an audience member asked how ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ is meeting a new reality, when the value of higher education is being called into question by some in both government and the public. “The public seems to be much less supportive, much more skeptical, [and] has much less regard for colleges and universities than was the case previously,â€� the attendee said before asking: How is ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ handling this new reality? 

Jenkins acknowledged that shift in public perception. “To be honest, for a long time, the college degree, its importance, the value, was almost taken as given,â€� he said. That value hasn’t changed, he said, but it can’t be taken for granted that others see it that way. ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ is trying to “communicate more and communicate better about the value that we add,â€� Jenkins said. 

ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ has a mission to educate the whole person and prepare students to be leaders, he said. “College is not about teaching people what to think,â€� Jenkins said. “It’s about teaching people how to think. That’s really important. I think we’ve lost the thread a little bit on that.â€�

The public needs to be aware of these myriad benefits of higher education, Jenkins explained, and this can only be achieved collectively. None of these perceptions developed overnight, he noted, citing the steady erosion of support for public institutions, including state funding, over the course of his own career. 

“Boy has that changed over the past, what, 40 years, 50 years? Right?â€� Jenkins said. Immediately prior to coming to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½, he served as the dean of the University of Minnesota Law School. Looking at how the percentage of funding that came from the state 40 years ago compared to how it is now represents a dramatically different scenario, he said. “When I left the University of Minnesota Law School, the percent [of school funding] from the state was in single digits. So this is part of a much longer narrative, and we’ve got to really dig in and work together to change that, but it’s not an overnight type of solution.â€�

“This is going to require citizen to citizen action,â€� Jenkins told the audience. “And so what we can do is we can enlist others to join us in this fight and in talking about the value, the importance that college had to you, to your life, to your family, and really tell that story.â€� He encouraged attendees to “talk to our politicians, talk to your neighbors,â€� to help bring about a cultural shift. “Because that’s what we need.â€� 

In the greenhouse atop Carnegie Science Hall, a green seedling peeks up from an unassuming black pot. Small but storied, this plant has traveled the world to put down roots here in Lewiston.

The ginkgo tree seedling, not even a foot tall, is the child of a ginkgo tree in Hiroshima, Japan, one of 170 hibakujumoku or “survivor treesâ€� that miraculously lived through the atomic bombing of Aug. 6, 1945 — 80 years ago this August — and still stand in the city today.

“We are looking at a piece of something that survived the bomb, and that’s what’s really magical,â€� says Alan Wang ’24, who coordinated the effort to bring the seedling to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ in partnership with the .

Green Legacy Hiroshima tends to the surviving trees in Hiroshima and their legacies, collecting their seeds and sharing them with institutions of higher education and botanical gardens. The offspring of the survivor trees are now growing at 146 partner institutions across 41 countries, bringing their message of hope and survival to communities around the world. 

As a junior at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½, Wang, who is originally from Henan, China, studied abroad in Japan through the Associated Kyoto Program. As part of the program, he traveled to Hiroshima to visit the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, where Green Legacy Hiroshima gave Wang and classmates a tour of the hibakujumoku. 

From a watch that stopped exactly at the moment the bomb detonated, to a shadow created by someone instantly vaporized by the heat of the atomic blast, what Wang saw in Hiroshima left a lasting impression on him.

“You can just see the devastating impact that the nuclear weapon caused,â€� Wang says. 

When he learned that Green Legacy Hiroshima had no partners in Maine, Wang became determined to make ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ the first. He imagined a survivor tree planted on campus, its presence encouraging discussion about the effects of nuclear weapons.

“I envision it as a platform to get people to talk about this,� Wang says.

But before he could bring the seeds to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½, Wang had to secure the support of campus partners and then apply to join Green Legacy as a partner institution. Though it would be a long process, Wang was committed. 

As a senior back on campus, he started by bringing his idea to Assistant Professor of Japanese Language and Asian Studies Hanna McGaughey and Lecturer in Japanese Keiko Konoeda, who were both eager to support Wang’s efforts. Impressed by Wang’s persistence, Raymond Clothier, the interim multifaith chaplain at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½, also joined the project.

“When somebody is willing to dedicate that amount of time to a project like this and to not let it go when he encounters bumps on the road, it is inspiring,� Clothier says.

Finally, Wang was left with finding a biology professor who was willing to take on a multi-year responsibility. A young tree needs a lot of tending before it is sturdy enough to plant outside. Wang eventually connected with Daniel Slane, a visiting assistant professor of biology, who immediately agreed to help.

With the four faculty and staff members on board, Wang submitted the application for partnership to Green Legacy Hiroshima during the holiday break between semesters of his senior year and heard back within a month: ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ was approved as a partner.

In summer 2024, seven ginkgo seeds arrived from San Diego, where all Green Legacy Hiroshima seeds for U.S. partner institutions are stored. Slane first sanded their hard exteriors to make it easier for them to germinate. He then refrigerated two of the seeds for cold stratification, a process which mimics winter by exposing seeds to cool weather and encouraging germination. After a couple of months, he removed the seeds and planted them in pots in the greenhouse high above the Historic Quad.

But, those first two seeds did not germinate. Slane suspects that the soil conditions were too moist. Back to square one, Slane refrigerated and planted three more seeds. A couple months later, one seed germinated. Now, Slane heads upstairs almost daily from his office to check on the seedling.

One of the oldest tree species on Earth, ginkgo trees are known for their resiliency. Konoeda says there is a message there for all beings about enduring through the impossible.

“The mother plants survived and watched the experience — the fire and the wind and the heat. And still, we see this green and the tree,â€� Konoeda says. “So, we don’t know what is going on in the world right now, but we will survive.â€�

ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€™ seeds are from a 200-year-old ginkgo tree in the lush Shukkeien Garden, created in 1620. The garden is a little less than a mile from where the bomb exploded. Its blast spread outward and then the force of air, rushing back toward the hypocenter, pushed the tree inward, leaving the tree with a permanent slant toward ground zero. 

The fact that the hibakujumoko are able to reproduce is impressive, Slane says, because high radiation can cause plants to become infertile. The ginkgo seeds’ DNA may even be altered due to epigenetics, the way in which heritable traits in offspring are changed by a parent’s life experiences. 

“If you have seeds from a tree that has been impacted by a natural event or something like a bombing, they will have certain epigenetic changes that allow the offspring to probably deal better with those changes,� Slane says.

Though it will be at least two years before the tree is large enough to plant outside, the ambition, or hope, is that the ginkgo will eventually be planted on campus, joining the ranks of the bright yellow tree standing guard outside of Carnegie since 2003 and the new ones at Bonney Science Center. Once the tree is planted, Clothier and the Multifaith Chaplaincy will be in charge of maintaining it. 

“It’ll be meaningful to me to see the tree when it’s in the ground, to have a place, a marker on campus for peace, for the intergenerational work of peace,â€� Clothier says.

Like the seeds themselves, each of the people contributing to this project have a personal tie to the atomic bombings or the brutal history of World War II, and most have traveled across oceans to end up at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½. Konoeda, for example, grew up in Kitakyushu, Japan, the original target for the second atomic bomb. The city narrowly avoided complete destruction when clouds obscured its skyline on the planned day of the bombing, and American planes headed toward Nagasaki instead.

Growing up in Independence, Mo. — the hometown of President Harry S. Truman, who authorized the atomic bombings — Clothier interrogated the history of the bombings at a young age. 

In middle school, he and his peers put Truman “on trial� for a school assignment, attempting to answer the question, was authorizing the bombings the right choice? Thinking through these questions in a shared hometown contributed to Clothier’s interest in peace and ultimately led to his anti-nuclear weapons activism.

McGaughey and Slane both have a German background, which instilled in them the importance of never forgetting the atrocities of the war. Both also spent years living in Japan.

Growing up in Germany, “I was brought up with, ‘Remember, remember, never forget what happened back then,’â€� Slane says. “For me, that’s in a way connected, and that’s why my heart is there.â€�

At the intersection of these varied identities and backgrounds are differing narratives about the story of World War II and the relationship between countries like Japan, Germany, and the U.S. The ginkgo trees do not declare one narrative right or another wrong, the project contributors say; they simply open up a space for listening and thinking beyond preconceived notions. 

“Japan tells a story that is very much about its big victimhood and not about what it has done or how it has come to that position in the history,â€� Konoeda says. “And the U.S. tells its own narratives. And only by stepping outside of those stories, you see a bigger picture. And we are stuck now looking at this contemporary world that’s so divided in different ways, but we need to step back.â€� 

As a living reminder of both the past and the potential of the future, the ginkgo tree will offer students the opportunity to reflect on their own lives while perhaps exploring these differing historical narratives, McGaughey says.

“The past isn’t necessarily a blueprint for how we should do things. I think we are free to decide for ourselves what should come next,â€� McGaughey says. “That’s what I hope that the tree can be — a place where people can reflect on, ‘So what is the right thing to do here?’â€� 

For Wang, a ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ politics major and Japanese minor, the relationship between his home country of China and Japan is storied and complicated. Fighting between China and Japan during World War II exacerbated the two countries’ fraught political relationship and, for many, established an enduring resentment between the two populations, a feeling only complicated by the devastation Japan experienced during the atomic bombings.

With this historical context, some people, Wang says, may be surprised to see someone from China advocating so strongly for something like the preservation of the hibakujumoku seeds.

But, after studying Japanese for two years at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ and studying abroad in Japan, Wang holds two things to be true at the same time: the relationship between his home country and Japan has been a difficult one, and the atomic bombings in Japan were unequivocally devastating.

“All of that has some nuanced influence on my opinion of the seed,� Wang says. “But at the end of the day, it came from something that survived the bomb. The wonders of life, the resilience of this being, I think, deserve celebration.�

Ginkgo trees can live for thousands of years. ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€™ tree may live on to see the next generation of people, and the next, and the next, its legacy of survival and hope enduring for centuries to come. 

In his retirement, Ralph Sylvester ’50 of Auburn became a familiar and welcoming presence on the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ campus, having breakfast most days in the Den or in Commons with a circle of ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ friends.

In November 2023, Sylvester died at the age of 99, but his positive presence will be felt at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ for many years to come, thanks to his bequest of $1.3 million to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½.

Made through Sylvester’s will, the bequest creates two new permanently endowed funds that will leave a legacy of access, opportunity, and community at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½. 

One endowment, the Ralph L. Sylvester ’50 Fund for Financial Aid, will provide need-based scholarships for ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ students, with preference for students from Androscoggin and Oxford counties. The second endowment, the Ralph L. Sylvester ’50 Fund for Dining Services, will support professional development for the members of the college’s dining team.

“Ralph was for the underdog, and he was always our champion,â€� said Christine Schwartz, associate vice president for dining, conferences, and campus events. 

Schwartz learned of Sylvester’s bequest this week while she was handling swiftly shifting details for Commencement weekend — rain was in the forecast. 

She teared up when hearing the news. True, the two hadn’t started out eye-to-eye: Sylvester didn’t mince words when offering feedback on goings-on at his alma mater, including her dining operation. 

“Let’s just say that Ralph and I did not start out in a stellar way,� Schwartz says. “But we became great friends, and I really took in his wisdom.� During COVID, Schwartz and her team delivered meals to Sylvester at his home in Auburn.

In recent years, the two friends often talked about how to create opportunity and advancement for the many members of the Dining Services team. “How do we move people along their career path? How do we, as a college, help our staff members realize that there are many opportunities to either continue on the path you’re on, or to open yourself up to wider opportunities?�

Sylvester was born in Lewiston in 1924 and lived in Auburn for most of his life. Growing up, he was a newsboy for the local paper, graduating from Edward Little High School and entering ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ in September 1942. He worked in a local mill to earn tuition money.

Then came World War II. Sylvester joined the U.S. Army in 1943, serving with the 295th Combat Engineers. He landed on Omaha Beach five days after D-Day, when the beach was still covered with the bodies of dead American soldiers, and later fought in the Battle of the Bulge.

After the war, he returned home to Auburn, and returned to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½. War had taken a toll, and he left before graduating, but always remained connected to his alma mater.

He married Elaine Miller in 1949, and worked in local banks and in telecommunications, helping to deliver service to rural Maine. He was a lifelong supporter of public institutions in the Lewiston-Auburn community.

Active in veterans affairs, he supported Honor Flight, a nonprofit program that honors U.S. military veterans by flying them for free to Washington, D.C., to visit the memorials dedicated to their service and sacrifice.

After retiring, he and Elaine started a morning routine of having breakfast at the Den. That was where Peter Steenstra, head coach of ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ rowing, met Sylvester. Steenstra liked to head to the Den for breakfast after the rowers’ early morning practice on the Androscoggin River. 

Sitting, eating, and talking with Sylvester and others became a morning ritual. “Being able to chat with someone who had such a vast experience in the world helped me keep things in perspective,� Steenstra said.

In recent years, Sylvester shifted to Commons, where he got to know ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ rowers, who would greet the nonagenarian as they returned from the river after practice. 

In April 2023, the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ rowing team chose to honor Sylvester by naming its new shell Ralph Sylvester ’50. During the christening ceremony in Perry Atrium, Steenstra presented an oar blade to Sylvester, a symbol of the great esteem the coach and rowers had for him. 

While having lunch with his teammates in Commons on Wednesday, ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ rower Leo Sullivan ’25 of Bloomfield, Conn., took in the news of Sylvester’s bequest. Sullivan was at the 2023 event, where he met and shook hands with Sylvester.

“It’s incredible that he was so invested in this community that he would pay it forward in that way,â€� said Sullivan. “It just speaks to what a major part of ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ he was.â€�

On May 7, on the cobblestones of St. Peter’s Square, my peers and I were trying to recall Rome’s nickname. New York is the Big Apple, Paris is the City of Lights, but what was Rome?

We found the answer printed on a shirt I had purchased just hours before — Rome, the Eternal City. We had to use my shirt, rather than the internet, because all signals were jammed — sequestered cardinals in the Sistine Chapel aren’t allowed to use cell phones during conclave, and evidently neither were we.

For this Short Term course, called “Layers of Rome,� we had traveled to Rome to explore the ancient city. But after watching the election of a new pope between lessons on ancient art and architecture, I have personally witnessed what that “eternal� label really means. Rome never stops moving; we are lucky to catch any of it. On May 8, though, it stood still.

I am not religious in any manner, but feeling part of such a historic moment doesn’t require you to be Catholic. It also doesn’t require you to know really anything in advance. All you have to do is absorb the moment.

My peers and I knew nothing at all. We had arrived at 6 p.m. on Wednesday, the first day of the conclave, and expected to know the results by 7:30. We hadn’t eaten or used the bathroom beforehand. By the time the black smoke actually emerged from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel just after 9 o’clock, we were cold, starving, and all desperately needed a toilet. 

The next night, May 8, we knew a little more. For one thing, we knew smoke wouldn’t happen until at least an hour after the actual vote. We also knew to eat (and pee) before heading there again.

We weren’t planning to actually go to the square on the second night; I had read that a decision would likely be reached the next day. That was until the bells tolled, and off we dashed down the hill to the Vatican, just a kilometer away from our hotel.

And this is where I feel the city stopped, somehow. Despite the rush of people from every corner into the Vatican, roads were closed to cars and the whole city was on the edge of its seat. There were smiles and quick phone calls before folks entered the no-service zone. I accidentally jostled a nun beside me as I approached a security checkpoint and expected her to be ticked off; instead, she smiled at me, offered me her place, and assured me that there was no way I’d miss the papal speech.

It was a tremendous bonding experience with my peers, too. As we’ve trekked through impossibly crowded streets together, we’ve also learned a lot about each other and experienced something incomparable together.

There was no way to predict when I signed up for our course that Short Term 2025 would coincide with a papal conclave or that we would be staying just meters away from such a monumental moment.

To me, though, it is a testament to the immersive experience of this part of the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ school year — at few other schools would I have had the opportunity to experience such new and valuable history in person while exploring the way the ancient layers of this eternal city have recorded human history. I am lucky, I am grateful, and I am awed to be here in Rome.

Carly Philpott ’27 is a double major in classical and medieval studies and environmental studies from Centennial, Colo. She will serve as editor-in-chief of The ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ Student in 2025–26 with Trinity Poon ’26 of Forestdale, Mass.

When you first brave the January cold and walk up to the roof of Carnegie Science Hall to visit  the college observatory, it feels sort of like being in a boat. Varnished wood planking, large slow-moving machinery you need to push around, and the strange feeling that the world outside your container is slowly moving around you.

The observatory houses the Stephens Telescope, given to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ in 1949 by a self-taught astronomer, Roscoe G. Stephens of Kennebunk, who built the Newtonian reflector telescope himself.

The observatory is a hidden gem on campus, one that the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ Astronomy Club is determined to share with the student body. “It’s such a great place,â€� said club co-president Evan Boxer-Cook ’26 of Scarborough, Maine. “I love bringing people up there for the first time. Seeing their reaction to the telescope is incredibly rewarding.â€�

Tonight, Boxer-Cook is guiding a group of about a dozen students to the observatory to see a close grouping of Venus, Jupiter, Mars, and the waning gibbous moon. The club usually hosts a monthly full moon viewing, but last week’s full moon viewing was thwarted by clouds, so they decided to have another session focused on the many visible planets. 

It’s no surprise that many of the visitors are first-year students. The club, revitalized in recent years by co-president Jade Pinto ’25, a double major in physics and Asian studies from the Bronx, New York, places an emphasis on inclusion. 

“One of our missions is to spread the idea that the sky is open to everyone. You don’t have to be a physics major to be involved,� says Boxer-Cook, who is a classical and medieval studies major.

Much like Roscoe Stephens himself, who was a photographer, machinist, mason, and chicken farmer in addition to his astronomy interests, Boxer-Cook’s interests are wide and varied.

In high school, he earned awards in English, Latin, and physics; at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½, he tutors students in Latin, serves as an officer of the Classics Club, and has worked in the Muskie Archives and Special Collection Library.

As ancient disciplines, classics and astronomy intersect in myriad ways, and one way becomes apparent when Boxer-Cook talks about hobbies, which include the history of timekeeping and navigation instruments such as astrolabes. During the visit to the observatory, he shows me one astrolabe, which looks like a palm-sized sundial, but with a lot more detail.

“The astrolabe is a two-dimensional representation of the celestial sphere,â€� Boxer-Cook explains. “It can model the movements of the sun, stars, and planets. Basically, when you rotate this, you can get a snapshot of your local sky at any moment in time, and you can solve all kinds of astronomical problems with that. It’s had many, many centuries of continued use.â€� 

The technology we use on this night holds some similarity. Before we head up to the observatory, we gather in the physics department’s seminar room, where Boxer-Cook projects an image from the website onto a screen, which displays the position of celestial objects in the sky above ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ at this exact moment. We use what we see as a reference to show us where to point the Stephens Telescope as we look for Venus, Saturn, and Jupiter. 

Inside the observatory, students climb a ladder one by one to look through the eyepiece to view each planet and inform each other of their positions. Boxer-Cook adjusts the telescope by hand to track celestial objects as the Earth rotates. 

The telescope’s tube measures 8 feet, 8 inches. Though hand-made by a self-taught astronomer, the instrument has long been considered a marvel of engineering, particularly its 12.5-inch mirror, which took Stephens six months to grind by hand.  

Though some adjustments are made by hand, electric motors control other parts of the observatory’s operation. One motor opens the dome’s shutter to the night sky. Another operates a rack and pinion gear system that rotates the entire dome.

And another small motor, not in use tonight, drives a worm gear that moves the telescope to track planets. Its design was aided by a senior thesis in physics by Jen Brine ’00, “Motorizing the Telescope in the Carnegie Science Observatory.”

As I take my turn peering through the eyepiece, it is strange to watch the planets crawl across the lens, feeling very fast and very slow at the same time. “They look like photos in a textbook,� says Celia Horowitz ’28 of Salt Lake City, Utah.

Toward the end of the night, after everyone has had a chance to look at every planet, Boxer-Cook encourages us to come back to the observatory, either during other club events or on our own as certified telescope operators at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½. 

Handling the certification process is Cole Hastings, a physics and astronomy assistant in instruction who oversees the observatory and the Ladd Planetarium. 

“Not many people know that anyone can be certified,â€� says Boxer-Cook. “You don’t have to be in the club. They tell you that in astronomy classes, but it’s a very underutilized resource on campus, and we’re happy to be spreading the word.â€� 

Thirty-nine years ago, even a hurricane couldn’t stay Jimmy Carter from a self-appointed duty: coming to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ to dedicate a new archive in honor of his good friend, Edmund Muskie ’36.

As Hurricane Gloria roared up the East Coast in late September 1985, threatening to thwart the former president’s trip to Maine, Carter’s reaction was, basically, “bring it on.â€�

“Nothing short of an absolute national catastrophe…could have prevented my coming to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College,â€� Carter told an audience of more than 2,700 in Merrill Gymnasium on Sept. 28, 1985, during a dedication convocation for the official repository of Muskie’s papers, now known as the Edmund S. Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library.

Carter died today at age 100 at his home in Plains, Ga.

In 1985, Carter also used the occasional to speak warmly about another ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ friend, civil rights leader Benjamin E. Mays, Class of 1920, who had died a year earlier. “I want to thank this college for making it possible for Dr. Benjamin Mays to overcome the handicaps of white supremacy and racism to take his place among the prominent leaders of our nation and our world.â€�

In his address, Carter described Muskie, a deeply admired colleague and friend who served as Carter’s secretary of state from May 1980 to January 1981, as representing “in a superb way the greatness of America’s character.� Muskie, he said, was “a man who had a strong and beneficial impact on my own life and on that of the nation.�

In Merrill Gym, the speakers’ platform was chock full of dignitaries. Maine Gov. Joseph Brennan was there, as was the entire Maine congressional delegation: representatives Olympia Snowe and John McKernan, and senators William Cohen and George Mitchell. Also on the platform was Frank Coffin ’40, who, as a federal judge, swore in Muskie as Carter’s new secretary of state in 1980. (Carter had visited ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ once before, giving a campaign speech in 1975.)

As if a visit to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ by a former president didn’t create enough hullabaloo and hubbub, there was Hurricane Gloria. To skirt the East Coast–hugging storm, Carter first flew to Syracuse, N.Y., where the local newspaper photographed him walking through a hotel lobby in jogging shorts after a seven-mile run around Onondaga Lake.

Carter arrived on campus to the sounds of chainsaws. From early morning, ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ community members, including students, took to the campus to clear fallen limbs before the big weekend’s events, which included traditional Back to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ festivities. Then-treasurer Bernie Carpenter wielded one of the saws and later wrote a thank-you letter to The ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ Student. “Without that extra help [from students] our campus could not have looked as great as it did on Back to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ Weekend for our alumni and honored guests.â€�

During the convocation, Carter received an honorary Doctor of Laws degree, and later had a tet-a-tet with then Dean of the Faculty Carl Straub about Straub’s degree citation. The two met up, by chance, at the foot of the driveway to the President’s House as they arrived from different directions to attend a lunch hosted by ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ President Hedley Reynolds. 

As Straub and Carter turned to walk up the steep driveway, Carter suddenly took the dean’s arm “and stopped my walk,� recalled Straub, who died in 2019. “He said he wanted to talk.�

Straub, who was a religion professor who would return to the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ classroom as the college’s first Griffith Professor of Environmental Studies, had piqued Carter’s interest by invoking the environment twice in his citation for Carter. 

First, he noted that “there is more than the Appalachian Trail which binds Maine to Georgia,â€� such as a “common heritage which rises from the simple decency of our people: We share a sense of what is good and just and beautiful.â€� Second, the citation praised Carter for, among other achievements as the 39th U.S. president, the “foresight to protect our natural environments, to preserve American wilderness.â€� 

Carter, recalled Straub, wanted to talk about the Appalachian Trail. Not surprising: In 1978, Carter signed a law giving the federal government more power to protect, expand, and improve the trail.

Straub said he took a moment to thank Carter for his leadership in establishing the Denali National Park. (In 1978, Carter used executive authority to designate 56 million acres of Alaska wilderness as federally protected national monuments and in 1980 signed a law bringing the former McKinley National Park into a larger protected area named Denali National Park and Preserve.)

It was a proud if surreal moment for Straub, having a 10-minute private audience with a former president — “while dignitaries waited at the top of the driveway to welcome [Carter].â€� 

Carter’s friendship with and admiration for Ed Muskie is well-chronicled in the public record, thanks in large part to the Muskie Archives. It shines through in the famous photo of the 5-foot-10 Carter hugging the 6-foot-4 Muskie during the archives dedication. 

And it comes through in quieter ways, like the April 1981 photo showing Carter, decked out in fly-fishing gear and smiling that famous Carter grin, holding a big brown trout. On the back of the photo, which Carter sent to Muskie, he wrote, “On the opening day of the season, with my new Ed Muskie self-casting rod, I caught a lot of smaller ones, plus three over 18 inches. Thanks again. I’m sure the Maine fishing will be even better. Jimmy.â€� 

While less well-known, the late president’s relationship with Mays was no less vital or authentic. For one, it reflected a shared Southern upbringing, wrote Damian Dominguez in a March 2023 story about the Mays–Carter friendship for the Greenwood (S.C.) Index-Journal. 

“The two shared a common sensibility: Carter grew up a rural, Southern, Baptist farmer; Mays was the son of freed slaves who became sharecroppers and grew up a Baptist in rural Epworth,â€� Dominguez reported. 

Carter and Mays probably got to know one another around 1970, Dominguez suggested. At the time, Mays, who had retired as president of Morehouse in 1967, was presiding over the Atlanta Board of Education — just as the federal courts ordered the desegregation of Georgia public schools — and Carter was ramping up his successful campaign for governor.

Mays pointed to Carter’s inaugural address as Georgia’s governor in 1971, when Carter said that “the time for racial discrimination is over.”

Within a few years, Mays, who had been advising U.S. presidents on racial issues since the 1950s, starting with Harry Truman, would announce his support of Carter for president, a decision that Mays explained during a talk at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ in February 1977 during Black Arts Week. Then age 82, Mays spoke in the Chapel (and was introduced by Marcus Bruce ’77, then a ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ senior and now the Charles A. Dana Professor of Religious Studies).

Mays explained that he had been getting letters asking why he had supported Carter’s run for president in 1976, so he took a moment to explain his reasons. Mays pointed to Carter’s inaugural address as Georgia’s governor in 1971, when Carter said that “the time for racial discrimination is over.”

From that moment, Mays took time to “study his record, read what he said and what his mother said about Jimmy’s early years. At a time when Negroes went to the back door [of a] white house… Jimmy Carter’s black friends went in and out of of the Carter house through the front door.”

When Carter served in the Navy, Mays told his Chapel audience, his voice sounding still strong on an old cassette tape recording, “one of his friends was Black, and when he visited Jimmy Carter’s home, he was treated as a man and was a guest in the Carter home. So when he made his statement about racism in his inaugural address [as] governor, I had reasons to believe.”

Mays went on to recount the various actions Carter took as governor, including integrating the powerful Board of Regents, which controls policy for Georgia’s public university system. “He meant what he said,” Mays concluded.

After Mays’ death on March 28, 1984, Carter praised him as “my personal friend, my constructive critic, and my close adviser.â€�

Mays, known as the “Schoolmaster of the Movement” for mentoring Martin Luther King Jr. and other civil rights leaders, told the Chapel audience that in supporting Carter he was also supporting his own life’s work, to help lead the South’s emergence from its Jim Crow past. Mays spoke of growing up when “lynching was respected by the state and condoned by the church…. I knew segregation and denigration.”

After Mays’ death on March 28, 1984, Carter praised him as “my personal friend, my constructive critic, and my close adviser.â€� Offering one of the eulogies at his funeral, held at Morehouse, Carter described Mays as a “monumental figure in the field of education and social justice. He inspired all who knew him.â€�

At Mays’ funeral, when a speaker asked all the “Morehouse men” to stand, Carter stood with the many other Morehouse degree-holders — Carter had received an honorary degree from Morehouse in 1972.

“I was proud to stand as one of the Morehouse men,” Carter said in his remarks. “Dr. Mays told me that he was proud a Morehouse man was finally in the White House. He told me, ‘You may be the first, but you won’t be the last.'”

In a � Associate Professor of Psychology Michael Sargent’s research on attitudes toward crime and punishment got a shoutout — and a ringing endorsement — from the week’s guest, author and scholar Dannagal Goldthwaite Young.

The podcast’s host, Shankar Vedantam, who received an honorary degree from ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ in 2023, was interviewing Young, a professor of political science and communication at the University of Delaware, about how our widely-ranging capacity for ambiguity impacts our lives. This psychological trait, Vedantam said, “plays a surprisingly large role in shaping our behavior, perspectives, even our political beliefs.â€� 

One of the traits that relates to the human capacity for uncertainty is a “high need for cognition,â€� an area Sargent has studied. This isn’t about intelligence, but more about an individual’s need to think, which connects to their openness to uncertainty, or life’s gray areas. 

About halfway through the interview, when Vedantam asked Young how our political beliefs might be shaped by our differing levels of need for cognition, she responded that “there is some wonderful work from political psychology that looks at the trait ‘need for cognition,’â€� referencing how “work by Michael Sargent showed that people who were highest in need for cognition…tended to be the least supportive of highly punitive measures in response to criminals or in the context of crime.â€�

Young noted that Sargent found that “people higher in need for cognition were probably more motivated to consider more complex ways of attributing responsibility for why individuals would have engaged in these criminal acts in the first place.�

In other words, said Young, “a high need for cognition allows people to think beyond simple causal mechanisms of bad-person-does-bad-thing and to think perhaps more systemically about other factors that may have been responsible for that criminal act in the first place.�

After this shoutout on the popular podcast (Hidden Brain is estimated to be downloaded 2 to 3 million times a week), ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ News checked in with Sargent to find out more.

ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ News: Young took a more extensive look at your research in her 2019 book Irony and Outrage: The Polarized Landscape of Rage, Fear, and Laughter in the U.S. (Her most recent book is Wrong: How Media, Politics, and Identity Drive our Appetite for Misinformation, released in 2023.) Have the two of you ever crossed paths, outside of bibliography?

Michael Sargent: I don’t know her, and it was a total, pleasant surprise to learn that she cited my work, especially because she described the work with perfect accuracy.

BN: That study of yours, “,â€� was published in Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin in 2004. Can you give a little background on how it came about? 

MS: This was a case of serendipity — some very good luck. I had actually collected some survey data for an unrelated purpose, and had included the need for cognition questions and the questions measuring punitiveness as filler items. In other words, their sole purpose was to disguise the focus of the study. I just decided to explore the data, and discovered that there was a negative correlation: as need for cognition went up, punitiveness went down.

Naturally, my next impulse was to collect data in a new sample to try to replicate the effect, so I could be relatively sure that the first finding wasn’t just a fluke. To my delight, the effect replicated, and it replicated once again in a third study that also shed light on why the need for cognition was having the effect it seemed to have. 

As I explain in the article, attributional complexity seems to be the mechanism. People high in need for cognition seem to gravitate toward relatively complex explanations for phenomena they observe, and the tendency to explain criminal action in complex terms, such as in terms of societal influence, tends to reduce one’s motivation to impose severe punishment.

As for how the article ended up in PSPB, that’s another example of good luck. I was going to submit it to a less selective journal, but I showed a draft of the manuscript to one of my former professors from graduate school — Jon Krosnick — and Jon advised me to aim higher and go for PSPB. 

“Someone who is high in need for cognition is more likely to invest time in cognitively-demanding tasks, such as The New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle, and to do so even when they don’t have to.”

I’m lucky he gave me that advice, as the article was obviously accepted, and it’s probably gotten more exposure at that outlet than it would have otherwise. It’s a reminder that it pays to be lucky — lucky enough to have wise colleagues with whom one can consult. And it pays to be sure to consult with them.

BN: What’s your best translation for the term “high need for cognitionâ€� — is it really about enjoying thinking/contemplating? 

MS: Need for cognition describes an individual’s cognitive motivation. It describes how much, or how little, a person enjoys engaging in effortful thought. Someone who is high in need for cognition is more likely to invest time in cognitively-demanding tasks, such as The New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle, and to do so even when they don’t have to, than someone low in the need for cognition.

Importantly, need for cognition is not descriptive of someone’s intelligence. Intelligence is about cognitive ability, but need for cognition is about cognitive motivation. To illustrate, one can be high in intelligence, but low in need for cognition, meaning that one is high in cognitive ability, but one doesn’t enjoy exercising that cognitive ability. As a professor, that prospect bums me out, but it’s very real.

BN: Do you think there has been a cultural shift around high/low need for cognition in the last two decades? 

MS: That’s a great question, and it’s one to which I will plead ignorance, or at least a lack of sufficient expertise, and I’ll defer to anthropologists, or at least to bolder social psychologists than I am. But whether or not general levels of cognitive motivation have shifted, I will hazard a guess that technology has shifted in a way that adversely affects our capacity to engage in sustained, effortful thought. 

Perhaps it’s a pedestrian observation, but the fact that the typical person (at least in the industrialized world) carries a computer in their pocket or purse that can ping us multiple times a day with text messages and social media notifications, probably gets in the way of the kind of concentration that’s characteristic of high “needcogs.� Whatever kind of shift we might call that, I think it can get in the way of high needcogs being high needcogs.

BN: You were one of the official faculty hosts for honorary degree recipients in 2023 when Vedantam was at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½. Did you get a chance to talk brain science?

Sargent: Briefly, yes. I don’t recall what we talked about but it might have been implicit bias. 

An inscription at the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ Veterans Plaza invites “reflection on the impact of war on the lives of everyone it touches.â€�

Among those lives is Joe Castonguay, a U.S. Army combat veteran and member of the Facility Services team that keeps the campus beautiful and safe year-round.

Castonguay, who served for 15 months in Iraq, joined a gathering Monday morning at the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ Veterans Plaza to observe Veterans Day. “I learned the value of human life in combat,â€� he said.  

The Rev. Brittany Longsdorf guided the day’s observance, which included reflective readings and interfaith prayers, the observing of silence, and the ritual of laying flowers to honor the service and sacrifice of veterans.

Castonguay, 41, grew up in downtown Lewiston and, after graduating from Lewiston High School, joined the Army as a way to start a career through the G.I. Bill. 

As a veteran, he’s a member of the American Legion and the VFW and supports various veterans’ charities, such as the Travis Mills Foundation. At ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½, he’s contributed to Human Resources staff-engagement programming.

We caught up with Castonguay after Veterans Day, on a sunny morning when he and his team were working outside Rand Hall. “It’s a beautiful view of campus here,� he said, looking toward Gomes Chapel and the Historic Quad.

We asked him about his service and his thoughts about Veterans Day at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½.

Jay Burns: What prompted you to join the military?

Joe Castonguay: There’s a bunch of things that go into a decision like that. The biggest one is I wanted to go to college for art. I loved drawing and painting growing up. One of my high school teachers went to art school, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps, but I knew I couldn’t afford the tuition. I come from a really poor family, so the GI Bill was a way to continue my art education. 

I also wanted to have a family eventually, so I needed to get started with a career. Growing up in downtown Lewiston, there weren’t a lot of people who were doing career things where I was living. I didn’t know what to do, so I figured, “I can join the military.â€� 

JB: How did the experience impact you, then and now, as a 14-year colleague on this campus? How did you adjust to civilian life?

JC: I got through it by talking to other veterans and going to groups. Talking with them about readjusting and feeling comfortable really helped.

You have a lot of ideas about how the world works when you’re young and you have these fantasies of what you can do or what the world is going to do for you.

I lost some really close friends in combat, and it took a long time to process that and find ways to move on. I ended up using them as motivation to be who I am, at least on a personal level and on pretty much every level. I try to do the best I can because they don’t have the opportunity.

Perspective is a big thing — in life, in art, and the military. A lot of things are easier when you’ve faced harder things. If I’m having a bad day at work, it’s still better than any day at war.

JB: When ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ Veterans Plaza was created, one of the project committee members was Dan Sands of Facility Services, who retired in 2019 as manager of carpentry, painting, and masonry. He meant a lot to you, right?

JC: He’s a mentor. Dan is a Vietnam veteran who taught me a lot about being a great veteran on this campus — powerful, friendly, funny, kind, and passionate about veterans’ issues, and connected to the community. He had a different experience coming back, but similar experiences while deployed. 

When I’m at the plaza, I’m thinking about what I learned from Dan added into my own personal experiences, and it means a lot. 

JB: Do you still create art?

JC: Yes, more through woodworking and metalworking. It still gives me that same feeling of creation I had when working with charcoals or oils on canvas.

JB: What was your rank in the military?

JC: I was a private first class. Losing friends made me realize the military wasn’t for me. It takes a special kind of person to do that and continue to do that.

JB: What are your thoughts on the meaning of Veterans Day?

JC: There’s a lot of building blocks under everything we see, and one of the building blocks under our society and our country are those military veterans. Honoring them — even in small ways — is crucial. Memorial Day acknowledges those who have passed, but any effort to recognize veterans, I’ll take it. 

We counted 25 items in Ladd Library’s Lost and Found cubby, located just inside the front door.

But when we opened up a packed pencil case, out poured 37 pens, mechanical pencils, highlighters, and markers. That makes 62 items. But please, don’t demand a recount.

The sweetest lost item was a greeting card with the quote “Être avec des gens qu’on aime cela suffitâ€� (“Being with people you love, that’s enoughâ€�) by Jean de La Bruyère, a French philosopher and moralist, on the outside.

Inside the card was a handwritten note from “Grandpaâ€� to his grandson in his first week at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½. “If you call or text me asking for a favor, I will say YES before I even know what it is,â€� wrote the grandfather.

Here’s our accounting of items:

• Pencil case, with 37 writing implements (plus one eraser), including a PaperMate InkJoy; Bic Brite Piner Grip (pastel), Sharpie ultra fine point, Bic .5mm HB No. 2, and Sharpie highlighters (yellow and pink)
• Black trim screws, in a plastic bag, with washers
• Necklace, with crucifix
• Blue ring, perhaps lapis lazuli
• EEG headset, by Emotiv Epoc, that detects and records brain electrical activity
• Bluetooth ear buds, by Beats

• Paint brush, by Princeton Select, natural bristle brush, round blender, short handle, size 12
• Portable charger, with a variety of USB plus Lightning connections.
• Reading glasses, +1 diopeter, no brand noted
• Silicone bracelet, LGBTQ/Pride stance
• Rechargeable Li-ion battery for a Texas Instruments graphing calculator TI-Nspire CX II CAS
• Book, Everyday Stalinism, by Sheila Fitzpatrick, an account of everyday life under Stalin
• Book, Ad Infinitum, by Nicholas Ostler, a history of the Latin language
• Book, On the Origins of War, by Donald Kagan, on why states go to war
• Book, A Thousand Small Sanities, by Adam Gopnik, a defense of liberalism against dogmatism
• Chemistry notebook with periodic table

• Face mask, by Kingfa
• Tea light, battery operated, made in China
• Small tin cup, palm tree pattern, filled with lots of paper clips
• Earring, shaped like an avocado 
• Lanyard, branded ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½

• Water bottle, by Lululemon, with stickers of Van Gogh’s Starry Night and Pink Roses
• Reusable shopping bag, from Stew Leonard’s, the legendary family grocery chain in Connecticut, New York, and New Jersey. This to a Stew Leonard’s in Fairfield, Conn., captures the store’s Disney-esque vibe
• Water bottle, with handle, branded ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ Bobcats