A Case Against Grade Curving

YONG DING/DEERFIELD SCROLL

At Deerfield Academy, the phrase “the test will be curved” spreads through the halls like a quiet sigh of relief. It means that even if the exam felt impossibly hard, a few missed points might not matter after all. To many students, curving a test may seem like an act of generosity. If the class average was low, everyone benefits from a boost, and the pressure of a poor score is somewhat softened. The practice of curving grades may look fair, yet when we examine closely, it disguises what fairness truly means. Fairness, in education, should mean that every student is evaluated by the same transparent standards and has a clear chance to succeed based on effort and understanding. When curving enters the picture, however, that definition starts to blur. What feels like kindness at the moment carries long term costs for students and teachers alike. Curving distorts the meaning of fairness, weakens the quality of assessment, and replaces self reflection. The most immediate problem with curving is that it distorts the accuracy of feedback. Students at the top and bottom both lose clarity. At Deerfield, curves simply raise everyone’s grades by varying amounts. While this may seem equitable, it erases the distinctions that honest feedback depends on. When everyone’s score is lifted, the difference between excellence and adequate begins to blur. A “good grade” stops feeling earned, it becomes a collective comfort for a group of students rather than an individual achievement. Without the tension of honest results, students lose not only clarity about their performance, but also the motivation to learn and strive for better. Curving also masks weaknesses in teaching and assessment. When an exam proves unexpectedly difficult or misaligned, a curve becomes a convenient fix. But this band-aid solution conceals the deeper problem; students are being evaluated unfairly. Instead of rethinking the exam design, clarifying expectations, or adjusting the teaching approach, teachers can rely on a curve to smooth over flaws. In doing so, students lose the chance to engage with well-constructed, meaningful assessments that accurately reflect their understanding. Education deserves clear expectations and fair assessments, not some sort of temporary fix. Defenders of curving may argue that it cushions students against unfair assessments, and occasionally, that defense holds. A curved test offers some temporary relief without addressing the actual issue of whether the exam measured what it was intended to measure. True fairness isn’t achieved from numerical manipulation; it comes from transparency and communication. Teachers could revise ambiguous questions, award partial credit where confusion was justified, or invite reflection and revision. Such methods preserve integrity because they actually address the cause rather than the consequence of unfair difficulty. This issue extends beyond the Deerfield classroom. Many Deerfield courses are designed to prepare students for AP exams, which themselves are graded on a national “curve,” where a raw score near 70% can earn a top score of 5. This external system trains both students and teachers to normalize the curve, accepting it as part of their academic journey. In that sense, curving inside the classroom may be less a reflection of a single teacher and more a symptom of a broader educational structure built on norm referenced evaluation. But perhaps the clearest way to see the psychological cost of curving is through the mindset it encourages. After a difficult exam, many students cling to a single hope, a possibility of a curve. The curve becomes some sort of a safety net, a whispered promise saying that their mistakes won’t matter. It also feels comforting, while allowing for avoidance. Instead of reviewing errors, instead of seeking help or changing study habits, the student hopes passively for leniency rather than improvement. In this moment, the curve shifts responsibility away from the learner and onto chance, training students to