The Theater of Neutrality

The Moral Failure Behind "Just Asking Questions"

This is, after all, a philosophy blog.

Something remarkable happened on Joe Rogan's podcast this week when Douglas Murray and Dave Smith squared off over history, war, and moral responsibility. Beyond the specific arguments about Ukraine, Israel, and historical revisionism, Murray exposed the profound moral vacuum at the center of our current discourse—the failure of the “just asking questions” posture that has become the default stance of podcast hosts, commentators, and an entire generation raised on procedural neutrality.

Two plus two equals four. There are twenty-four hours in a day. And platforming dangerous historical revisionism is not a morally neutral act regardless of how many times you disclaim expertise.

But perhaps the most revealing moment came when Smith exposed the moral relativism that undergirds his entire worldview. When discussing foreign interventions, he made an astonishing equivalence: a totalitarian regime interfering in a democracy to undermine it is morally indistinguishable from a democratic nation projecting power to challenge totalitarianism. This false equivalence isn't just historically inaccurate—it represents a collapse of moral reasoning so complete that it renders meaningful ethical distinctions impossible.

What we witnessed was a false genuflection toward the notion of having “clean hands”—a moral posture that confuses inaction with innocence, that treats withdrawal from moral complexity as ethical superiority rather than abdication. It's a throwback to the isolationism that gave the Axis powers space to gain strength, a worldview that fails to understand that refusing to confront evil doesn't mean you haven't chosen a side—it means you've chosen the side of its unopposed advance.

This is the dark heart of the “just asking questions” posture—not just epistemological uncertainty but moral relativism so profound that it cannot distinguish between fundamentally different moral categories. In this framework, the intentions behind actions don't matter, the values being defended don't matter, the outcomes for human freedom don't matter. All that matters is the abstract fact of “interference” stripped of all moral context and the illusory purity of uninvolvement.

While Murray forcefully argued that “if Russia rolls tanks into neighboring countries it can't be allowed,” he failed to press Smith on the logical conclusion of his position: that America should therefore abandon Ukraine to Russian conquest in the name of non-interventionism. More importantly, he failed to confront the moral relativism behind Smith's position—the inability to distinguish between actions taken to expand human freedom and those taken to crush it.

This is the strange moral inversion that has infected our political discourse—where clear moral imperatives (“Russian tanks invading neighboring countries cannot be allowed”) somehow transform into their opposite (“America should stop supporting Ukraine's defense”) without confronting the fundamental contradiction. Where morally distinct categories (“promoting democracy” versus “undermining democracy”) are treated as equivalent simply because they both involve crossing borders.

Murray pushed Rogan into uncomfortable territory by challenging the core premise of his approach: that hosting conversations about history, war, and genocide without taking moral positions represents intellectual virtue rather than moral abdication. When Rogan defended having figures like Daryl Cooper on his show to discuss revisionist views of World War II, Murray refused to accept the fiction that this was merely an exploration of interesting ideas with no ethical dimension.

“If you mainstream very fringe views that are easily able to be debunked,” Murray argued, “at some point that view that was so fringe will be what eager very disconnected unhappy people are going to start playing with too.” This isn't merely a theoretical concern but a pattern we've watched unfold across our information landscape—how ideas move from fringe to mainstream not through evidence or argument but through the laundering of credibility that comes from uncritical amplification.

Yet when it came to Smith's moral relativism—his inability to distinguish between Russia undermining American democracy and America supporting Ukrainian democracy—Murray failed to apply his own standard. The fundamental question went unasked: If there is no moral distinction between promoting democracy and undermining it, between expanding human freedom and crushing it, what moral principles can possibly guide our actions in the world?

This contradiction exposes the deeper failure in our discourse—the way moral clarity about basic principles (“aggression is wrong,” “invasions cannot be allowed”) somehow doesn't translate into moral clarity about what those principles demand of us. More importantly, it reveals how "anti-imperialism" and "anti-war" positions often mask a moral relativism so profound that it cannot distinguish between fundamentally different moral categories.

The “clean hands” fallacy at the heart of this position ignores that withdrawal from moral complexity doesn't give you clean hands—it simply passes responsibility to others. It pretends that refusing to act in the face of evil means you haven't made a choice, when in reality it means you've chosen to allow evil to advance unopposed. As Murray might have pointed out (but didn't), the isolationism of the 1930s didn't give America clean hands—it gave the Axis powers time to grow stronger and ultimately cost millions more lives than earlier intervention might have.

What makes this confrontation so significant is that it happened on the largest podcast platform in the world, where the “just asking questions” approach has been elevated to an article of faith. Rogan has built his empire on the premise that he's merely a curious observer, that his only responsibility is to have interesting conversations without judgment or moral framework. Murray's direct challenge to this stance forced a confrontation with the reality that such procedural neutrality is itself a moral position—and often an indefensible one.

The exchange revealed something profound about the state of our discourse. We've embraced a model where hosts and commentators can amplify any narrative, no matter how dangerous or historically discredited, while maintaining personal distance through the ritual disclaimer: “I'm not an expert” or “I'm just asking questions.” This posture allows them to enjoy the benefits of spreading provocative ideas without taking responsibility for their consequences.

What Murray articulated, however imperfectly, is that this approach represents not intellectual courage but its opposite—a refusal to engage with the moral weight of the ideas being platformed. It's a performance of open-mindedness that actually serves to flatten moral distinctions and treat all perspectives as equally worthy of consideration regardless of their evidence, coherence, or potential harm.

Yet Murray himself stopped short of applying this insight to Smith's moral relativism. Having established that “Russian tanks invading neighboring countries cannot be allowed,” he failed to press Smith on how his position—that America should withdraw support from Ukraine—squares with this moral imperative. More importantly, he failed to confront the fundamental moral vacancy behind treating actions taken to expand human freedom as equivalent to those taken to crush it.

This matters because we're living through a moment where the distinction between truth and falsehood, between fact and propaganda, between legitimate historical inquiry and dangerous revisionism has real-world consequences. When podcasters with audiences of millions treat Holocaust minimization or the whitewashing of Hitler's anti-Semitism as just another interesting perspective, they're not expanding the marketplace of ideas—they're corroding the foundation of shared reality that makes meaningful discourse possible.

The same applies to discussions of current conflicts. When clear moral principles (“invasions are wrong”) don't lead to their logical conclusions about what those principles demand of us, we're not engaged in serious moral reflection—we're performing its simulation while avoiding its demands. When we cannot distinguish between actions taken to expand human freedom and those taken to crush it, we haven't achieved moral sophistication—we've abandoned moral reasoning entirely.

Murray's insistence that authority and expertise still matter, that not all perspectives deserve equal amplification, that platforming certain views carries moral responsibility—these positions have been so thoroughly rejected in certain corners of our discourse that merely asserting them feels radical. But what he's arguing for isn't censorship or the suppression of unpopular views. He's arguing for the recognition that intellectual exploration without ethical foundation isn't enlightenment—it's nihilism dressed as curiosity.

The confrontation exposes a deeper philosophical divide about the nature of truth and how we arrive at it. The “just asking questions” approach assumes that truth emerges naturally from the free exchange of ideas, that platforming any perspective, no matter how discredited, serves the ultimate goal of enlightenment. But this assumes a marketplace of ideas that functions rationally, where audiences have the context, knowledge, and critical thinking skills to evaluate competing claims effectively.

What if that assumption is wrong? What if audiences lack the historical knowledge to recognize when they're being manipulated by selective evidence? What if psychological factors like confirmation bias and tribal identity overwhelm rational evaluation? What if the most inflammatory, emotionally resonant narratives spread regardless of their factual basis? If these conditions prevail—and evidence suggests they do—then the “just asking questions” approach doesn't serve truth. It undermines it.

This connects to a broader philosophical insight about the nature of coherence itself. The procedural neutrality of “just asking questions” assumes that coherence emerges from the process—that by hosting diverse perspectives without judgment, truth will naturally crystallize. But what if coherence is prior rather than emergent? What if certain moral frameworks and factual understandings must precede discourse rather than emerge from it?

Murray's position, beneath its particular political valence, suggests exactly this—that meaningful discourse requires shared acknowledgment of certain historical facts and moral principles. Without this foundation, the “marketplace of ideas” doesn't produce truth; it produces tribal signaling, emotional resonance, and the illusion of insight.

Yet Murray himself failed to follow this insight to its conclusion when confronted with Smith's moral relativism. Having established that Russian aggression “cannot be allowed,” he didn't press Smith on how his position—that America should withdraw support—aligns with this principle. More importantly, he didn't confront the fundamental moral vacancy behind treating the promotion of democracy and its undermining as morally equivalent simply because both involve crossing borders.

This isn't just about podcasts or social media. It's about a fundamental shift in how we understand the relationship between discourse and truth. The “just asking questions” posture has become so ubiquitous precisely because it offers the appearance of intellectual exploration without its responsibilities. It allows commentators to traffic in dangerous ideas while maintaining plausible deniability. It enables audiences to indulge in tribal narratives while pretending to engage in critical thinking.

But this posture isn't sustainable if we want a functioning democracy or shared reality. At some point, we must acknowledge that not all questions are asked in good faith, that amplifying certain narratives causes real harm, that platforming discredited history isn't intellectual bravery but moral negligence. And we must also acknowledge that moral principles aren't just abstract positions to be admired but commitments that demand action—and that actions taken to expand human freedom are fundamentally different from those taken to crush it.

The theater of neutrality performed by podcast hosts and commentators might create compelling content and build loyal audiences, but it doesn't serve truth. In pretending that all perspectives deserve equal consideration, in refusing to make moral judgments about the ideas they platform, they aren't expanding discourse—they're eroding the conditions that make meaningful discourse possible.

Two plus two equals four. There are twenty-four hours in a day. And the moral abdication disguised as intellectual openness is destroying our capacity for shared understanding at precisely the moment we need it most.

The center must be held—not because it is easy, but because it is ours to hold. And holding it requires rejecting the fiction that we can platform dangerous falsehoods without consequence, that we can “just ask questions” about history's darkest chapters without moral responsibility, that we can treat the foundations of shared reality as just another interesting topic for debate. Most of all, it requires rejecting the moral relativism that cannot distinguish between actions taken to expand human freedom and those taken to crush it, and the “clean hands” fallacy that confuses withdrawal from moral complexity with ethical superiority.

“Hemingway once wrote: ‘The world's a fine place and worth fighting for.’ I agree with the second part.”― William Somerset