WHEN I WAS in college, I made a discovery that changed my life. I discovered that I could turn in assignments late.

Late assignments were hardly an issue in my elementary school, which was too “progressive” to give much homework. Teachers seemed to fear that homework would stifle our creativity, although they never explained how we were supposed to be creative when we had little to be creative about. Late assignments were hardly an option in my high school, which was too regimented to grant extensions for anything short of an emergency appendectomy coming right after a grandparent’s funeral.

In college, however, extra time was available for the asking — and the telling. Professors expected you to tell them why you needed an extension. I grew adept at saying plaintively, “I’ve been having problems lately,” without adding that these problems mainly involved making myself get down to work. At that point, I made a resolution: When I became a teacher, I would never ask a student why he needed extra time.

Unlike most of my youthful resolutions, this is one that I have managed to keep. My policy is to suggest dates for turning in papers, but to make the dates optional.

Students may turn in work anytime during the term, except that those who want to avoid getting Incompletes in a course obviously must turn in everything in time for it to be graded before course grades are due. Students who want Incompletes get them for the asking, with no telling required.

This policy shimmers with advantages. It spares me (and my grading assistants) piles of hastily written papers. It keeps students from having to write such papers. It also eliminates the need for intrusive judgments about students’ personal lives. No teacher can disallow all extensions. What if a student breaks an arm? But if a broken arm merits an extension, what about a broken wrist — or a broken heart? My policy safeguards students’ privacy by not requiring them to barter personal details about arms, wrists or hearts in return for extra time.

Most of my students tell me they have never had another teacher with this policy. Why not? Here are some arguments I have encountered against it.

“The policy is not always feasible.” That is absolutely right. For example, I make minor modifications when a course involves classroom discussion of students’ papers. Furthermore, many teachers have large classes and no grading assistance. Such teachers may need papers turned in on a strict schedule in order to get them graded at all. These are no reasons not to adopt the policy insofar as it is feasible.

“Deadlines are necessary for students to develop good work habits.” This may hold true in pre-college education, when students are developing basic skills for a wide range of classes. Good work in philosophy, however, is a matter of rigorous thinking, not of meeting deadlines. Moreover, the liberal arts do not aim at vocational training. There is no more reason for me to impose deadlines because many workplaces impose them than there would be for me to require students to show up at my office at 9 a.m. because that is when many employees must show up for work.

“Some students need the discipline of a deadline to get them to complete an assignment.” I can hardly give deadlines to some but not all students in a class. Most of my students thrive under my lenient policy. Why sacrifice them to the minority who need external constraints?

“Students who turn in all their papers at the end of the term miss out on the opportunity to improve later papers by taking into account the comments on earlier ones.” I warn my students of this danger. But I do not require them to act as if the comments will be so valuable. I let each student judge this for himself.

“Some students who request extra time are just procrastinators.” I know. I was one. Is that so terrible? Some procrastinators write good papers once they get around to it. Some do not. Why grade either sort on anything but the quality of their work?

Felicia Nimue Ackerman, a monthly contributor, is a professor of philosophy at Brown University.