On campus, grade point averages (GPAs) are on the rise. As per statistics provided by the Registrar, the Class of 2025’s average GPA was 3.70. At the turn of the century, Vassar’s average was 3.34. In 1990, it was even lower: 3.12.
Mount Holyoke was the first school in recorded history to use a grading system with letters. In the spirit of rivalry with our fellow Seven Sister—and because rising grades make themselves less meaningful—we should reconsider the importance of these letters.
Our culture loves talking about grades. If you had strict parents, it began in childhood. If you watched movies, you saw Cher Horowitz beefing up her report card in “Clueless” by using lawyer-approved argument tactics. For years, splashy opinion pieces have proclaimed the large rise in college GPAs across the nation, dubbed “grade inflation,” as a symptom of higher education’s rot; that students at elite schools are being coddled or rewarded for mediocrity.
The reality is, of course, more complicated. We might have easier coursework, but I cannot prove that. Perhaps our coursework is easier, but grades have risen for a variety of reasons. Professors might give out high marks to receive better course evaluations in a tough job field or to encourage continued study in a department. They might want students to care less about grades, so they hand out good ones. Schools want their students to be competitive in the job market and postgraduate admissions. And students want—very badly—to be competitive too. We want our parents to be happy. So, like Horowitz, we plead and scheme.
Rather than pointing fingers at each other or sitting around in that milieu, we can “go to the source,” as our Vassar gods instruct. When we ask ourselves, “What lurks behind a grade?”, we quickly arrive at a larger problem, one that extends beyond the current debate. Nobody grades the same.
Consider these questions about grades: “What should the mark really represent? Should the mark be based upon ability or performance, or even upon zeal or enthusiasm?” This quote is from 1913, published in “The Marking System in Theory and Practice,” by I.E. Finkelstein. It gives us a taste of the large debate over what grades should mean. Do they represent excellence, proficiency, participation or something else entirely? In practice, our campus grades can represent any, all or none of this criteria. Standards vary across departments, professors and even semesters.
So grades are a bit of a mess. But the problem with this mess that needs more attention is how it disadvantages students in the classroom—specifically, how it warps the feedback we receive. When most students receive a grade in the A range, that A is not a precise indicator of our performance. How do we know if we have sufficient analytical skills or dynamic essay writing? How do we know if the effort we are putting into our work is appropriate, if we can get a B+ for doing nothing?
Easy grading is a sleeping beast. It can feel nice to do little and receive an A-, but it sidesteps an opportunity for genuine praise or genuine criticism.
A solution to this system’s relative meaninglessness, bypassing grades entirely, is written feedback from your professor. Some already want you to deprioritize the grades they give and focus on their comments. Some give great comments already. They give you half a page of ideas to improve an argument in an essay. They hand back tests with pools of ink. They plainly state what you excel at, and where you must improve. Others do not, and that is a shame. A shame that can change, if we have the courage, like Horowitz, to ask politely.
Written feedback ensures students know where they stand. It is often effective. Not only that, but quality feedback feels good too. Being seriously engaged with, not receiving the same generic responses, makes for not only a scholarly connection but a human one.
There are potential bureaucratic solutions to this problem. You can put the average grade in a course on a student’s transcript. You can deflate grades and cap the number of As given out per semester. In fact, Princeton tried that and it was wildly unpopular. So did Wellesley. But bureaucratic fixes, successful or not, follow years of small, organic changes in the classroom. An emphasis on written feedback could be that change.
If they represent less, we must think less of grades. Although some of us have spent a lifetime being told that they are everything, we must learn to think of them as just “something.” As students, we can attempt to love learning not because of the validation we receive when we do well in class, but from the promise of a fulfilling life. We can take risks academically, read outside our field of study or write about subjects that intrigue us. It can start by grabbing another book from the library, or asking professors questions outside of class about your own interests. This makes use of our resources and gets us out of our comfort zone.
When discussing “grade inflation,” there is an instinct to refer to what other schools are doing. I am guilty of it several times in this article. Past articles of The Miscellany News do as well. The desire to imitate is an instinct that disadvantages us if we focus too heavily on it. Like looking at someone else’s test, Vassar’s community deserves a unique response. Dare I say, a “fearlessly consequential” one?
I hope, and believe, that a large chunk of students care about academic integrity. Some do, and others might not. But their opinion might change tomorrow or next year. I hope too that professors are bold enough to challenge us and encourage rigor without relishing in it. In the meantime, we should focus on the skills our education provides: a critical eye, an attention to detail and a love of learning. All of those skills are older than grades—older than schools. They impact our future contentment more than we realize.