I gave my class a simple task: go on TikTok, find a video that you would consider „educational“ and share it in the discussion section on canvas. Further, I asked them to be prepared to speak about it in class: What makes it educational to you? I adjusted the discussion in such a way that students could see what others had posted only after they had posted something themselves. I wanted to get a grasp on each student’s intuitions and have them think for themselves, without taking inspiration from others.

That week’s reading was by Alvin Goldman, Experts, which ones should you trust? It was the first actual contemporary social epistemology text we read after spending the first section with some historical figures: Plato, Socrates, Hume, and Descartes. These philosophers have contributed some of the most significant insights and their ideas and arguments are still important today. Especially Descartes cogito argument is something many students had encountered in one way or another, as the famous I think, therefore I am, found its way into popular culture.

So what better way to start off our section on social epistemology than by calling these philosopher’s – and other’s – epistemic authority in question?

Social epistemology, as a field, stresses the importance of others in our understanding and acquisition of knowledge. There are a myriad of things that we know only through others: Many scientific facts we know through books or teachers, seldom have we attempted to test any of these knowledge claims on our own – and even if, we barely have the means for proving, testing, and researching scientific hypotheses all by ourselves. So knowledge acquisition is an inherently social process, which makes it necessary for us to think about: What makes someone an expert in a given field? Based on what criteria can we assess their expertise, especially given that we lack the same deep insight into the field, for this would require us to be an expert ourselves? When are we justified in trusting someone that claims epistemic authority? And how can we decide whom to believe when faced with two experts with differing opinions?

These are some of the questions with which we started our weeklong engagement with expertise. In reading the Goldman text, we encountered criteria that the layperson can draw on in order to assess an expert’s claim to epistemic authority: What background does the expert have? Are they a recognized member of their respective scientific community? Have they published in relevant journals? How do they present themselves in discussions? And of course we critically questioned these and other criteria: Does having attended a prestigious university indicate that their knowledge and expertise is prima facie „better“ or „more reliable“ than that of others who claim authority on the same subject matter? If all or most members of their scientific community agree with them, is that a direct indicator that the expert is right, or do we need to assess the numbers more carefully and inquire if there are potentially other motivations for agreeing (e.g. power dynamics and dependencies). If someone does not publish in big, famous journals, is that an indicator that their work is „less good“ or does it rather point to the fact that publishing comes with significant hurdles and challenges, oftentimes unrelated to the research itself, that not everybody is able and in a position to overcome? And if someone is frightened to speak and perform publicly, if they are nervous and stutter a lot, does that mean they don’t know what they’re talking about? Does speaking with a calm, authoritative voice justify claims to expertise?

With these and more criteria at hand, we returned to our educational TikToks. We went through the students‘ submissions together in class and I asked each student to use the criteria and assess whether or not they would consider the creator of the Tiktok an expert on their content or not, and based on what.

Students ending up assessing multiple things, some of which I want to summarize below

• How was the information presented?

Was it clear and easy to follow, did they speak fluently and confidently or were they more stuttery and hesitant? Did they give off the impression that they know what they are talking about? Were they merely summarizing and presenting information or were they making arguments and drawing their own conclusions? Were their thoughts structured or were they jumping from point to point, being all over the place?

• What credentials did the creator have?

Some creators start off their videos by introducing themselves: Who they are, what they do for a living, what their interests are and if they have done any research or training on the subject matter. Some list their degrees and jobs in their bios, thereby justifying their claim to know what they are talking about. Some creators didn’t bother to do so and we discussed together what implications to draw from the presence or absence of this kind of information.

• One student admitted that they are more ready to believe a creator and regard them as an expert when their videos have high numbers of comments, shares, likes and saves.

I was very grateful for this comment for it allowed me to discuss with the students just how much high engagement numbers can actually tell us. Are there many comments because a lot of people actually agree with the content? Is there are a fiery debate about something people think the creator got wrong? Or are there just trolls and engagement boosters in the comments creating comment chains? Did a lot of people share, save or like the video because they thought it was outstandingly insightful? Did they maybe just like the background music? Maybe they wanted to show it to their friends to make fun of virtually anything related to the Tiktok: the creator’s eyebrows, the editing – they could have saved it for every reason other than the actual content! So merely relying on numbers themselves cannot function as an epistemically valuable justification for why we should or should not regard a creator as an expert. No number or comments can, on its own, make what the information presented right or true. We would live in a deeply troublesome world if something like the longest comment chain of emojis or people counting would make a person an expert on climate justice, reproductive rights, or the movement of tectonic plates!

That high amounts of engagement and buzz are not necessarily an indicator of content quality is something we can already see in many areas of our lives; it is not a phenomenon new or unique to Tiktok. Noteworthy, this problem comes up repeatedly with every populist political leader that draws on provocative, misleading, empty or outright wrong statements for the sake of popularity and attracting as many voters as possible. But especially now with our media landscape continually changing and our ways of acquiring knowledge and information transforming, we once again need to reflect on whom we regard as an expert, who deserves to be believed and trusted, and based on what. I hope that our discussion of expertise and the application to Tiktok can assist the students in becoming more aware consumers of content and more critical learners. For it is precisely our (epistemic) gullibility and laziness that can be easily exploited for the sake of making money or spreading misinformation.

Tiktok, as a digital tool, here did not have much transformative impact on the way philosophy was done: we still read our text, mostly each on their own, we discussed it in class together and applied our concepts and approaches to examples. Still, using Tiktok did make a difference: by treating Tiktok as a platform from which we acquire information and learn, I could demonstrate to the students that our philosophical and epistemological considerations don’t have to be limited to the realm of abstract contemplation and weird thought experiments. On the contrary, philosophy and the study of knowledge can be relevant to our everyday life, for example anytime we encounter a Tiktok that tries to present something as facts.