The Temptation of Judgment and the Ethics of the Other: A Reflection Through Levinas (and Beyond)

People want so desperately to control. Whether it’s a situation, an outcome, or another person’s reaction, we long for the comfort of predictability. But underneath this striving lies something more tender: a deep desire to feel safe, gratified, or simply at ease. Control is often less about dominance and more about protection.

When someone offends us—leaves us confused, angry, or hurt—it’s common to skip over the truth of our own emotional experience and reach instead for judgment: “What’s wrong with them?” “They always do this.” “That was manipulative.” In that moment, rather than saying, “I felt hurt, confused, and disoriented,” we flip the lens outward. It’s quicker. It feels cleaner. And it gives us a fleeting sense of authority over what is, in truth, a vulnerable internal state.

But what’s important to recognize is that these judgments aren’t just conscious strategies—they’re often defenses, and by definition, defenses are unconscious. They arise automatically, like emotional reflexes. We don’t choose them; they choose us. They operate beneath awareness to protect us from the discomfort of disrupted, dysregulated emotional states.

And yet, we can become aware of them. Awareness is possible—but it requires slowing down, and it requires courage. Because stepping away from a defense doesn’t mean we return to peace; it means we step into the very vulnerability the defense was shielding us from. We open ourselves to feeling raw, uncertain, exposed.

This is where the philosophy of Immanuel Levinas can guide us. Levinas teaches that the face of the Other is not merely a surface to interpret or explain—it is a site of ethical demand. The Other is not for us to define, control, or consume with judgment. The Other is sacred. And to encounter the Other ethically means to resist the impulse to reduce them into categories we can manage.

To define the other person—“they’re just selfish,” “they’re emotionally immature,” “they always do this”—is, in Levinas’ view, a subtle act of violence. We substitute our interpretation for their humanity. We replace their infinite otherness with a version of them we can control. And in doing so, we fail the ethical call their presence places on us.

But this work—the work of stepping out of defense and into presence—is not always equally available to everyone. This becomes exponentially more difficult within unjust power dynamics.

Jessica Benjamin, in her psychoanalytic and feminist work, reminds us that mutual recognition is not just a psychological achievement; it is a relational and political act too. Where there are asymmetries of power—based on gender, race, age, class, or role—the ability to “see and be seen” is compromised. The one with more power may unconsciously negate the subjectivity of the other—a process Benjamin names as a failure of recognition.

In relationships shaped by trauma, hierarchy, or systemic injustice, both the more powerful and the less powerful parties may engage in defensive acts that negate the other’s subjectivity. Benjamin calls this a doer or done to configuration. Which is basically a combat situation, someone is winning and someone is losing and the both people are wrestling for domination. This often takes the form of unconscious denial—a way to protect against our own vulnerability. This negation isn’t always overt; it can appear as withdrawal, silence, or avoidance. In response to the other person may also negate as a way to preserve their sense of self in the face of ongoing dysregulation and a lack of safety in reaction to feeling negated.

In this context, stepping out of defense is more than just difficult—it can feel existentially threatening. When someone has learned that expressing pain leads to punishment, dismissal, or rupture, moving toward emotional truth requires more than personal bravery. It demands relational scaffolding: trust, attunement, and often a supportive community that can help hold the weight of that risk. Only in such environments can enough safety and shared wisdom emerge to support true adaptation and mutual recognition. Which, for Benjamin, is healthy relating, each person offering a recognition and validation of the other person’s perspective without losing a sense of their own.

So what do we do?

We start where we can. We practice awareness, we build capacity to sit with our own disrupted states, and we work to notice when we are defining others too quickly or too harshly. We strive to live, as Levinas suggests, not from the ego’s desire to master, but from the soul’s openness to the face of the Other.

And we hold ourselves accountable—not just to our feelings, but to the structures of power we inhabit. The call to love, to see, to stay open is not just personal—it’s profoundly ethical. Especially when we hold more power, the work is to risk meeting the Other without collapsing them into our judgments.

Reflection Prompt:

Next time you find yourself mentally diagnosing or dismissing someone’s behavior, pause. Ask yourself:

• What am I feeling underneath this judgment?

• What defense might be at play here?

• Am I unconsciously negating their subjectivity to protect myself?

• What power dynamics are shaping this moment?

You don’t have to answer perfectly. But asking opens the door to something sacred: an encounter marked not by control, but by care.