The Ethics of Ambiguity

De Beauvoir addresses the objection that “to will freedom” is a meaningless phrase with “no concrete content for action.” But the very meaning of freedom requires taking definite action in the world. Willing freedom, de Beauvoir reiterates, is the same thing as willing “to disclose being,” although every time being comes into existence, it is “constantly surpassed.” Perfection—a complete and absolute disclosure of being—is impossible. Rather, incremental success in disclosing being reveals new frontiers to be tackled: “with each step forward the horizon recedes a step.”

Similarly, it is wrong to think of science as a way of capturing the serious, whole truth about anything; rather, it is about “the possibility of new discoveries,” which is to say the achievement of freedom through inquiry. Technology’s goal is discovery itself, not improving human life (which it seldom actually does). It only tries to improve life by making things easier, by helping people live less, when what they need is to live wholly. Art, likewise, “should reveal existence as a reason for existing” rather than trying to grasp absolutes.

While “it is permissible” to hope that at some point in the future people will learn to take full advantage of their freedom, in the present many “can justify their life only by a negative action,” transcending themselves but not moving themselves closer to their goals. This is because they are oppressed, and oppression is always imposed by other people (never by things, which can be obstacles, but never truly limit people’s freedom). This is because of people’s interdependence; one needs others to keep the future open. But they often fail, denying people the resources they need to truly pursue their freedom, turning others’ lives into mere strenuous labor, forcing them “to mark time hopelessly in order merely to support the collectivity.” The only solution to oppression is to seize one’s freedom through revolt, substituting one’s own vision of a future for the oppressor’s.

So, de Beauvoir summarizes, there are “two ways of surpassing the given”: one that incorporates it (innovation, art), and one that rejects it (revolution). In his optimism, she argues, Hegel failed to properly distinguish these and did not see that, in reality, “revolt is not integrated into the harmonious development of the world,” but rather develops the world through disharmony and rupture. Marx understood this (which is why the class struggle is primarily a struggle against class oppression and inequality), just as he understood the way oppressed people can be “mystified” into not understanding their condition.

The solution is, of course, to give the oppressed and enslaved a means to revolt and understand their condition. This is distinct from charity, which involves deciding what is best for someone else from the outside; rather, it is about opening up mutual freedom out of a more fundamental interest in others’ existence. External action can show the oppressed a possibility of freedom, but never choose it for them. The oppressed person can easily “flee from his freedom” like anyone else—and those from the oppressor’s class can pursue their own freedom in conjunction with that of the oppressed, although there is still hearty debate about the usefulness of imagining a post-revolutionary utopia. Ultimately, the oppressed are most involved in the struggle for liberation, but this struggle morally involves everyone.

There are also questions of political tactics in liberation struggles, like how groups oppressed by multiple forces or oppressed groups pitted against one another should act. This depends on individual circumstances, but the ultimate goal should always be freedom. The oppressor might claim that the oppressed is trying to invert the situation and deny their (the oppressor’s) freedom, but in fact the “freedom” the oppressor is talking about is “quite plainly […] the freedom of exploiting the working class.” This freedom denies others’ freedom, violating genuine freedom’s indefinite movement, and therefore it must itself be denied.

More often, oppressors see themselves as defending things like “civilization,” “institutions,” “monuments,” or “virtues” in the name of holding on to what they can be certain about from the past. While change does always require sacrifice, the past always vanishes eventually, although many revolutionaries too eagerly dismiss it as entirely irrelevant, which suggests an inadequate recognition of past people’s humanity and potential to offer us insight.

Yet conservatives often choose “the Thing” from the past over the people of the present. An illustrative example is Portugal under the dictator António Salazar, where people are forced to re-enact old cultural rituals whose value is precisely “that men attempted through them to escape from coercion.” Even the most historically-minded know that artefacts are valuable because of “the civilization which they represent,” not in themselves.

Accordingly, de Beauvoir argues, the oppressor’s idols—virtue, civilization, history—do not justify oppression. Instead, these are “hardened and mummified forms” of the past, which was really “an appeal toward the future,” an appeal of the same sort that one should make in the present. This means assuming, not valorizing or rejecting, the past.

In fact, de Beauvoir notes, often oppressors do appeal to the future—for instance, by claiming that capitalist production is the most useful. But usefulness is always a question of usefulness for particular people and particular human ends. Last of all, de Beauvoir suggests that the oppressor does show how difficult it is to respect everyone’s freedom—but this does not make it any less imperative to try: everyone “must reject oppression at any cost.”