Amherst’s Open Curriculum is Building New Invisible Walls

When I was making my schedule for this semester, I was warned by several people that the course “Logic” was notoriously difficult. I was told that if I cared about my GPA — my future — it wasn’t worth it. But I was interested; I wanted to learn something unfamiliar and take advantage of the academic freedom Amherst College promises its students. After all, isn’t that exploration the whole point of the open curriculum, and a liberal arts education as a whole?

Now, I find myself asking a question I wish I had not needed to consider: Would I make the same decision again?

The answer is less obvious than it should be. I am frustrated that a decision motivated by intellectual curiosity has become a calculation about risk. I knew the class would be difficult, but I had hoped that difficulty would be part of the education rather than a reason to question whether I could afford to pursue it. 

This is the contradiction at the heart of Amherst’s open curriculum. During orientation, my class was welcomed to campus with a convocation speech by President Michael Elliot on the joys of academic curiosity. We are told by academic and career advisors that we can study what interests us, explore disciplines outside our comfort zones, and follow questions wherever they lead. But when grades carry consequences for graduate school admissions, fellowships, and competitive careers, the freedom to explore becomes conditional. We may be free to take intellectual risks, but we must also consider whether we can afford to fail.

The open curriculum has no formal walls. There are no general distribution requirements forcing me to take this class, nor any preventing me from exploring an entirely different discipline next semester. One built not from rules about what we must study, but from incentives that shape what we feel able to study.

The Cost of Intellectual Curiosity

Learning something new always involves the possibility of being bad at it. The first attempt at mastering a new discipline will not always produce the grades that reflect a student’s eventual ability to succeed in it. That is precisely why students should be encouraged to explore beyond what they already know. College should be an opportunity to develop new abilities, not just demonstrate existing skills.

But a student who expects to apply to graduate school or pursue a competitive career cannot always treat a poor grade as an isolated learning experience. A low GPA will narrow future opportunities. The consequences vary by field and program, but the incentive is clear: When academic records help determine access to future opportunities, students have reason to protect them. Even if the student is genuinely interested in the subject, the possibility of a poor grade can be enough to discourage enrollment. Over time, this pressure can push students toward familiar disciplines, where they have already demonstrated an ability to succeed, and away from subjects where they might struggle before improving, narrowing intellectual horizons.

In his recent lecture on campus, Anne T. and Robert M. Bass Professor of Government at Harvard University Michael Sandel offered a useful framework for understanding this contradiction through his critique of the “sorting machine.” Sandel argued that higher education has become increasingly preoccupied with sorting students by merit, credentials, and their prospects for future success — diverting colleges from their intrinsic purpose of educating. 

Amherst’s changing grading incentives also risk reproducing this same logic within the college itself. Until recently, grade inflation here has allowed students more academic freedom compared to other schools. As more classes become “difficult,” sorting begins to take precedence over learning as students feel a need to choose courses based on the expected impact on their GPAs. Every class becomes another calculation about how to remain competitive, and every grade another measure of future worth. 

An academic culture that discourages students from taking intellectual risks reinforces this dynamic. Realistically, the difference between an A (4.0) and an A- (3.67) in most classes is thin, and the difference between an A- (3.67) and a B+ (3.33) is negligible in every way, except for GPA. Sandel warns that meritocracy can encourage winners to forget how much their success depends on luck and social circumstances, while those who fall behind internalize their outcomes as personal failures. Rather than treating education as a shared opportunity to discover and develop our abilities, students are incentivized to begin treating it as a competition in which every decision must improve our standing, and even a slight edge can have major consequences.

Last year, Brooke Ingemi ’26 wrote an article on the Provost and Dean of Faculty Martha Umphrey’s presentation about grade inflation to the Association of Amherst Students. In the article, Brooke quotes one of the presenters saying that “it’s very hard for us to know who’s really excelling here, who’s taking intellectual risks that may have led to a few — two, three — A-minuses versus who’s playing it safe.” Perhaps I am mistaken, but in minimizing grade inflation, are the conditions not being created to penalize students who take intellectual risks, rather than those who play it safe? Is the solution to grade inflation really to incentivize students to play it safe?

The Search for Easy A’s

There are a couple more consequences of this pressure. If students believe the grading system is holding down their GPAs, then they have an incentive to seek out courses that will bring those GPAs back up.

The result is a different kind of confinement: many students fill their schedules with courses chosen primarily for the anticipated effect on their transcripts. Classes become instruments of GPA management rather than opportunities for intellectual discovery.

Of course, there is nothing wrong with wanting to do well in a class, and students should not be blamed for responding rationally to the demands placed on them. Nor should every difficult course be expected to award high grades. Academic rigor matters.

But a system that makes students feel compelled to seek out easy A’s risks undermining the very educational purpose that justifies an open curriculum. When students begin asking which courses will protect their GPAs before asking which courses will teach them something valuable, something has gone wrong. The problem is not that students have become less curious. It is that curiosity must compete with an increasingly consequential calculation.

The pass-fail (P/F) option exists, in part, to try and solve this issue. In theory, it allows students to attempt something uncomfortable and struggle without the lack of immediate mastery impacting their transcript. In practice, it does not fulfill this purpose. Students treat P/F as an admission of failure and a way to “draw a curtain” over a difficult class for when recruiters and graduate schools ask for their transcripts. Rather than serving as a tool for intellectual exploration, P/F is seen as a last resort for concealing academic difficulty, carrying its own perceived stigma and potential costs. It could be possible for P/F to fulfill the role, but P/F would need to include a “proof of effort” — demonstrating a certain level of commitment and class difficulty — to fit this more narrow assignment.

An Open Curriculum Should Mean More Than an Absence of Requirements

None of this means Amherst should abandon rigorous grading or guarantee students a particular GPA. Nor should a single bad midterm become an excuse to avoid accountability. Sometimes poor performance reflects inadequate preparation, and sometimes a difficult class reveals weaknesses that a student needs to address.

But there is a difference between holding students to high standards and creating an environment in which they feel discouraged from attempting something unfamiliar. Rigor should challenge students to develop their abilities, not make them question whether exploring a new field is worth the potential damage to their future prospects.

An open curriculum is only as open as students feel able to use it. If grade deflation encourages students to remain within the boundaries of what they already know or to seek out courses primarily because they expect easy A’s, Amherst risks preserving the appearance of intellectual freedom while narrowing its practice.

I do not regret taking “Logic.” At least, I do not want to. I still believe that learning something difficult is worthwhile, even when the first attempt goes badly. But I would be lying if I said the grade did not matter, or if I could ignore the consequences it might have.

That is what troubles me most. I came to Amherst believing that an open curriculum meant I could follow my curiosity beyond the boundaries of my existing abilities. After one bad midterm, I find myself wondering whether I can afford to do so again.

Amherst should want its students to ask what they want to learn, not what they can afford to get wrong. If we want an open curriculum in more than name, we must take seriously the ways our grading culture can turn intellectual freedom into a privilege reserved for those willing or able to risk their GPAs.