"Grades in courses are a necessary evil, but for the exceptionally qualified student they might not be necessary"--Kenneth B. Murdock '16, chairman of the Committee on General Education.

"People are examined too much and too frequently"--Richard T. Gill '48, Senior Tutor of Leverett House and a member of the Committee on Educational Policy.

"Brilliant students can be ruined by a police-type exam given in great detail because of the grading system"--Paul H. Buck, former dean of the Faculty.

"Too few students realize that God is not grading their bluebooks"--Wallace MacDonald '44, director of freshman scholarships.

These opinions represent some fundamental doubts about Harvard education, suggesting that the College's educational methods are unimaginative and old-fashioned, with many students caught up in a mesh of exams, papers, gradesheets, and course requirements.

Grades draw attention because they underlie the whole system. Except for tutorial, all formal education at the College is evaluated in twelve steps from A to E. Lectures, reading, quizzes, essays are all treated as things to be marked, or the stuff from which to make an examination.

If grades actually spurred students to intellectual achievement, this approach would be reasonable. They are in fact only a poor substitute for personal criticism from a respected teacher, the best incentive to learning.

Grades suggest first that the ideas and facts presented are not in themselves interesting, and second that what is worth knowing about a given subject has definite, readily attained limits. The A symbolizes them, and sets a limit of its own on effort in a course.

Sophisticated students may ridicule the A and those who seek it. But when they accept a lower mark, perhaps a B-, as minimal for self-respect, they are mislead into believing that B- stands for an important, measurable level of learning.

Then there is a third type of student, who is immediately inhibited by grades, courses and the other IBM-directed trivia of Harvard education. He wants to study some problem deeply, but does not because he feels he must make high marks in all courses, for the sake of the Scholarship Committee, or for a graduate school, or for his parents.

Harvard's emphasis on grades can show worst in final examinations. Finals can and should be educational tools in themselves, but now they tend to deemphasize memory, and a certain amount of vaguely knowledgeable generalization. Questions which amount only to identifications, either of terms or places, or which permit an A answer based only on general information typify this pointless approach.

An exceptional professor will ask a question that requires the student to take a stand and draw together the material of the course. He will have to do some thinking, and whatever grade he gets, he will have gained something from that examination.

The fact-memory exam has only one justification--the assumption that tests are only to show how much has been learned, and need not be learning experiences themselves. This slothful attitude defends the exam which allows only one answer to one question (like "What was the center of cotton production in the United States in 1940?").

When even a little thought is asked, or where more than one answer is correct, then the inaccuracies that characterize grading here explode the system. Even teachers and administrators here doubt how well grades measure, and some begin to question just what they do measure.

A traditional complaint against grades--the psychological effect of continual measuring--is noted here, but never becomes an important argument.

But psychological effects are not really considered too important, for while the College is ready to provide advice, and psychiatric help if necessary, it will scarcely discard an entire educational framework to solve problems it considers essentially personal. Change will only come if teachers and students feel that more can be learned, in some circumstances at least, without grades.

Student discontent is hard to judge. The student has no Committee on Educational Policy to express his grievances, and while the subject might be treated in a Student Council report, it is probably too involved for that group to handle.

i.e.'s Damnation

One of the few vocal expressions of dissatisfaction was last June's i. e., a general damnation of Harvard education which suffered because its heat was grades, i.e. said:

There is something destructive in all grades whether they be A's or B's. It is their inarticulateness. They are the stuttering of a powerful Jehovah. Learning is not interested in being told how good or bad it is; it is interested in being responded to, in being shown what is being done wrong. Let us look at the question logically. Socratically, what it the point in telling a student he is stupid if he is stupid; and if he is not stupid, what is the point in telling him that he is?

However imperfectly put, this insistence that learning craves response was i.e.'s best contribution. The magazine offered no constructive suggestions, but its blunderbuss assault was still useful, for it stimulated quite a bit of thought, much if it among students who had never previously considered education abstractly.

By and large, these are the students' complaints with grades:

They are inconsistent.

They do not measure the most important parts of a course, and they suggest that each item on a reading list or each lecture in a course deserves equal attention.

One defense for grades upholds their validity. Dean Leighton says, "You must have some measure of academic performance." He believes that grades are quality of SAT prediction, in terms of a perfectly suitable measure, pointing to grade curves which correlate with scores on Scholastic Aptitude Tests. But of course all these figures show is the later grades. Neither standard is necessarily meaningful.

College administrators and grad school admissions officers say that they are satisfied with grades as forecasters, though they readily admit that a personal appraisal is superior, when they personally know the candidates for some award. But the idiosyncrasies of far-flung deans limit the wide application of such an approach.

The second is more important. It argues that without a recurrent check in the from of grade sheets, there would be no impulse for students to do any work at all. They contend essentially, with Keppel, that though some faults may exist in the current system, student immaturity is the basic problem, and would not be removed by removing the present goals of their immature student.

While European students generally get by without constant grading, grade consciousness is instilled in the American youth all through school, culminating in a terrific batery of tests his last year in school. It is felt that this grade emphasis stimulates much of the learning in American education.

Reformers argue that grades are not a necessary cause of learning. They argue that several institutions have removed grades from the college experience of varying groups or students, and without bad effects on learning.

Reed (570 students) and Bennington (309 students) keep grades but do not communicate them to students, using conferences to inform students about the quality of their work.

A somewhat larger college, Swarthmore, discards course grades entirely for 200 of the school's 900 students. They are juniors and seniors admitted to honors because of interest and course grades in their first two years.

These students take only seminars, two a term. Five or six students meet weekly with an instructor, writing papers every other week. Ordinarily one seminar is in the student's own field and the others related. A typical honors program might include four political science seminars, two in history, and two in economics.

Outside Examiners

Instead of being graded, these students are put through a heavy battery of general examinations, both written and oral, in the spring of their senior year. These examinations are prepared not by the Swarthmore faculty, but by outside examiners, who serve to prevent academic inbreeding. Students have high praise for this detail, for they feel that they are working with an instructor, not against him, because he neither writes nor reads their examinations.

These colleges have demonstrated that an American college student is capable of excellent work without constant pressure from grades. However, even the fine records of their graduates, in academic pursuits and elsewhere, do not themselves show that the plans would work for large numbers of students.

In the first place, Swarthmore's honors system, which casts grades out entirely, includes only about 200 students, and these are drawn from about 450 matriculating students, already about as highly selected as Harvard's 4400.

Secondly, these faculties are excellent teaching faculties, but while they include individual scholars of renown, they are not centers of research. The teaching and counseling duties constitute a severe handicap to research. At Swarthmore the teacher performs in both seminar and courses, and this can result in a schedule requiring the equivalent of five half courses and two one-term seminars in a year, or an average of up to thirteen teaching hours per week. With time allowed for preparation, this figure may almost preclude a research faculty.

These objections indicate that these systems cannot be transplanted to Harvard, but we must not therefore neglect the lesson they teach--that grades are not always necessary to education.

Such ideas are also accepted at an institution more readily comparable to Harvard. Yale agrees that students may not need grades, and offers several different programs, existing at once under one faculty and one administration.

While most Yale students take the ordinary course program, increasing numbers of able Elis work more independently under new plans of study.

The first of these is the Scholar of the House program, in which courses are optional for a group of about twelve seniors. They meet biweekly, read papers to each other, and study under the guidance of a tutor.

Divisional Majors Program

Another experiment is the Divisional Majors Honors Program. Not always restricted to honors candidates, this plan offers seminars that cut departmental lines for the last two years, along with tutorial work, additional reading, and possibly some course work on the side. No grades are given in this program which leads to a series of Comprehensive Examinations.

Both these programs embody President A. Whitney Griswold's hope that "just as democracy puts the fulfillment of opportunity up to its citizens, the new Yale College program puts the fulfillment of opportunity up to its students." The Scholar of the House program goes further, but both innovations support Griswold's idea that for "the student of unusual maturity and ability... nothing short of a maximum challenge will evoke a maximum response."

Just how much is Harvard doing to evoke such a response?

Both tutorial for credit and course reduction offer gradeless, relatively independent study for some students. The line between them blurs, and it is hard to tell how much tutorial for credit succeeds when it is anything but a thesis course or a cram session for generals. Not too many students avail themselves of this privilege, which is infrequently pushed by departments.

Few Take Course Reduction

Numbers demonstrate the current insignificance of course education. It was first open in the spring of 1955, when ten students used it to eliminate one half course in favor of independent study. In succeeding terms the plan was used by 19, 17, and 9 students, while 20 used it this spring. No signs appear of any consistent upward trend, nor of any especially meaningful number using the program.

The program has certain peculiar aspects. The first is that the student is usually without supervision, once he has been accepted in the program. His field, usually History or History and Literature, recommends him for the program for a suggested study project not paralleled by courses. The Committee on Advanced Standing will usually accept the petition.

This leaves the student pretty much on his own, and if he has three time-consuming courses or a big outside activity, he may let his project slide. Many students have regretted the lack of direction in the program, but Harlon P. Hanson '46, director of Advanced Standing, is not too much distressed. He says, "Intellectual worth can be derived from a slackening of pace. Too many people here are tying their shoelaces while they run."

Much more supervision exists in the College's only other gradeless instruction program, tutorial. Often very valuable, tutorial is sometimes offered in circumstances which destroy its effectiveness.

Large, economy-size group tutorial every other week for an hour and a half can rarely provide anything better than a good lecture from a tutor.

Tutorial was intended to help the student organize the material in his field, drawn from courses and other readings, into a coherent whole. Advice and assignments from the tutor would help him achieve this unity. Tutorial does not now accomplish this for any large number of students.

Course Competition

Competition with courses remains the most serious obstacle to independent programs. As long as the College emphasizes grades, any portion of formal education which tries to disregard them will suffer unless it is exceptionally well-planned and intriguing or the student displays a remarkable degree of independence. "If you are in a system that includes grades, you commit harakiri if you try to do without them," comments Harold C. Martin, director of General Education Ahf.

Removing grades from part of education will not always prove disastrous, but it must carry the risk that a man will concentrate his energies on the graded education and neglect the untested.

This is the argument for throwing out grades entirely, at some point in a man's college career. Various schemes have been advanced which would permit seniors to use the College as they choose, fulfilling only thesis and general examination requirements. Others argue for a more gradual development of this independence, beginning it in the junior year.

Minor obstacles like graduate school admission and Selective Service classrank could almost certainly be overcome, but scientists' opposition would present a stronger check. John H. Van Vleck, Dean of Engineering and Applied Physics, contends that courses are necessary in the sciences; saying that the European emphasis on reading and tutorial applies reasonably only to the Humanities and Social Sciences. "You can browse around in literature," he says, "more easily than in scientific disciplines and the laboratories."

If this problem could not be overcomes planners would face the question of whether they wanted to increase twelve) scientist's separation from the college life of his fellows.

The most staggering problem is that of expense, for if more tutors were to be used, there would have to be money to pay them. Exactly where they would come from is another problem of no mean difficulty.

Senior Faculty members could not be counted on for much more tutorial work, if any, unless there was a great cutback in course offerings. Committee responsibilities have increased tremendously (Murdock last fall served on nine Faculty committees) and this seems to preclude the Faculty's deciding to assign itself much more tutorial.

Before Finance

One reason for the lack of a cost estimate and proposals for financing is that all these discussions are still in the preliminary stages, and that the educational desirability of the program has not been established to the satisfaction of the faculty.

The ideas, at least as far as they have been publicly discussed, do have some flaws. There is something illogical in arguing that grades are a poor stimulus to education, and that therefore they will be used only for three years instead of four. Again, if one maintains that grades do not stimulate a student to exceptional work, how can one have confidence that capacity for excellence will be shown by the grades of the first three years? This can be justified only by postulating a remarkable transformation between the junior and senior years, an unlikely concept. Speaking purely in terms of educational philosophy, Murdock agrees, one would have to ask for application of this type of independent education to all, for four years.

In practical terms however, there is no chance of this within the foreseeable future. Budgetary considerations and old-fashioned conservatism would prevent any immediate universality for the plan. There is another great factor, a lingering belief that many of the students in the College actually learn more because of the grade stimulus than they would without it.

Fixing the Limits

If, consequently, there must be limits to the plan, how best may they be fixed? There is nothing wrong with restricting it to honors candidates, provided one is clear of the standards required for honors candidacy. But why institute independence in the senior year? Discarding hour exams and some essays in the junior year curriculum will not prepare the student for a courseless senior year. Removing grades is not so much the aim as making the study more vital, and grades are a symptom as well as a cause of learning's failure to excite.

Tutorial for credit could be required for junior honors candidates. Grades could be given to insure adequate competition with courses, although a tutor who inspired respect would probably not need this club. The tutor should write a searching report on the student, a report carrying great weight in determining his status for the senior year, and his admission to a courseless program.

Nothing is more critical to this program than good teachers. When a professor who has the student's confidence criticizes a piece of work, if only for a minute, the effect is infinitely greater and more permanent than a lengthy treatise in red pencil at the bottom of a blue-book or essay. Perhaps the graduate student who writes there is a better critic than the professor; it does not matter, for the student doesn't know that, and the comment carries little meaning.

Kerby-Miller's View

One of the strongest arguments in favor of increased flexibility for qualified students comes from an area that is intimately concerned with the quality of Harvard education, but is frequently overlooked by that system's planners. Radcliffe's Dean of Instruction, Mrs. Wilma Anderson Kerby-Miller, offered this view:

While a person working just for a grade gets quite a lot out of a course, I wish we didn't have to lay so much stress on grades, particularly in areas like scholarships. We have sixteen and one half courses for everybody, and the same system all the way through.

I often feel that many of those who graduate from Radcliffe could have had a better education, for while we try to educate these people to be critical, the process often stops with college. Something we often forget is that it's important to know how to buy books, and to want to buy books.

Her suggestion is that while the quality of Harvard-Radcliffe education is quite high, it may frequently be too "test-ridden" and fall to develop an inquiring, critical-mind. Sometimes it may only have filled this mind with a certain quantity of facts.

Dean Elder does not regard the problem as this critical although he conceded that it is a real one. While courses suggest a quantity concept of knowledge, he admits, Harvard's approach does no generally do this to a significant degree. "In fact," he says, "because Harvard's education is so good, Harvard must lead the way. If by his senior year in college a man is not ready to think on his own, there is not too much likelihood that another year of courses will lead him to do so."J. PETERSEN ELDER