Education secretary Bridget Phillipson told The Telegraph that Labour’s curriculum review will “develop plans to embed critical skills in lessons to arm our children against the disinformation, fake news and putrid conspiracy theories awash on social media”.

Critics worry this over-politicises the classroom, some even calling it “Orwellian”, but it isn’t far from Aristotle’s definition of an educated person as someone who can “judge what is well said and what is not”, regardless of the topic.

Others doubt such critical skills can even be taught. Spotting fake news is undoubtedly tricky.

It’s a classic philosophical conundrum: unless I witness an event, I’m going to have to rely on others for the news. But how can I spot fake news, if I don’t already know the actual news?

How, for example, would I know that claims Algerian boxer Imane Khelif is transgender are fake if I don’t already know she isn’t? Or that tweets telling me the Southport attacker is Muslim are untrue if I don’t already know he’s not?

A few assemblies aren’t going to cut it, but as a long-serving philosophy teacher, I would suggest a few principles.

1. Broad knowledge is indispensable

Claims and ideas don’t exist in a vacuum. The claim “Imane Khelif is transgender” stands in relation to all other things I know. Given I know that LGBTQ+ people are commonly subjected to discrimination and potential arrest in Algeria, it makes sense to be a little suspicious of the claim.

News is like a missing piece of a mosaic; we can judge whether it fits with what we know. Just as a stone needs others to form a pattern, we need related ideas to make sense of a claim. So the first step is simply to acquire lots of knowledge.

2. A grasp of logical concepts

Knowing related facts is of little use without a grasp of the logic of those relations. Courses in formal logic aren’t necessary, but ensuring a good understanding of (domain-general) logical concepts like possibility, probability, certainty, typicality, sufficiency, necessity, all, some, if, either, implication, contrary, contradiction, and warrant is something we could perhaps put more thought into.

How often do pupils get away with claiming something “must be” true or is “probably” true when it simply “might” be true? How important is it to correctly use quantifiers like all, some, comparatively few, and no?

In my experience, the concept of a warrant is invaluable in grasping the mechanics of argumentation. The warrant is the rule that licences our leap from reason to conclusion.

For example, concluding the Southport attacker was Muslim from a single tweet is unwarranted. And questions as well as conclusions need warrants.

One common disinformation ploy is to “just ask questions”. It only makes sense to ask questions when something needs explaining. (Think of a controlling husband asking his wife who she’s messaging).

If the police force informs me an incident is “non-terror related”, is throwing shade reasonable? Of course, there are good reasons for asking such questions, but unwarranted questions are fertile ground for conspiracy theories.

Again, evaluating warrants requires knowledge, including of social and moral norms. These may not be examined, but they are taught in schools - though perhaps not recognised as part of an anti-disinformation curriculum.

3. Sensitivity to character and context

It’s what we say that’s true or false, not the words used to say it.

A phrase might mean different or even opposite things depending on context and delivery.

Adverbial information is critical. So the difference between news and fake news isn’t merely a matter of words said, but also who said it, when, for what reasons, in what manner, etc. The etymology of the word “accurate” is done with care - a description of the manner in which content was produced, not the content itself. The etymology of “true” is faithful, steadfast. Again not referring to content, but to character.

Pupils need to think about the author’s motivations, background, integrity and funding. Someone with a history of making money through scams and pornography, who’s currently facing charges of rape and human trafficking, is perhaps not the most reliable source. My advice to pupils is to seek out nerds: they’ll teach us for no other reason than they love it.

Often this task is more difficult because of online anonymity. Most pupils know not to research a topic by asking strangers in the street, but in my experience, they’re extremely naive about epistemological stranger danger online.

4. Critical thinking must be taught as a virtue not a collection of methods

A lot of confusion around “critical thinking” arises because we miscategorise it as a set of actions rather than as a manner of acting. Critical thinking, along with intelligence, wisdom and understanding are virtues - again better thought of as adverbial descriptions.

Pupils can’t cultivate these virtues passively; they must want them and actively work for them. As Aristotle said: “We become just by doing just acts, temperate by doing temperate acts, brave by doing brave acts.”

There are no shortcuts here. Pupils need opportunities to practise these virtues. Our job is to provide these opportunities through challenge, debate and discussion.

5. We cannot ignore emotions

From this, we must conclude that if the pupil doesn’t care, is angry, or merely looking for something to get the adrenaline running, all our teaching is a fart in a hurricane. We can’t spot fake news if we can’t respond well with respect to our feelings, if we’re not emotionally healthy and appropriately detached.

While schools’ power and responsibility for this is limited, we can help by maintaining a safe and calm environment, and by avoiding unnecessary fear, anger and resentment.

Perhaps the most important role schools have in the war against fake news is to provide pupils with a sense of purpose, hope and concern for things other than themselves - to give them something they won’t throw away for the sake of the empty words of a bullshitter.

Bernard Andrews is a philosophy teacher

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