In our reflection on the bases that sustain human organizations, we come across a theory that proposes the existence of fundamental affective codes (among them the paternal, the maternal, the filial and the fraternal) as structuring pillars. We observe, in particular, the function of the paternal code, a symbolic Law that carries the indelible mark of lack. And it is precisely this lack, this impossibility of completeness, that makes us human. If there were something totalizing, if we completed ourselves fully, there would be no room for a truly human existence. If we could have all the pleasure in the world, there would be no connection, only possession and property; there would be chaos and, ultimately, a kind of existential death.

The presumption of perfection is perhaps the most narcissistic of positions. We observe that a good part of the people we live with is always ready to defend themselves through judgment. We understand judgment as a sophisticated form of defense: by judging the other, we distract ourselves from our own pains and agonies. People seem available to place themselves in a position of distance, protecting themselves from their vulnerabilities through a withdrawal that becomes inevitable. Yet we believe that awareness of our pains and our incompleteness is what allows compassion for others’ imperfection. It is in recognizing lack that we can foster a genuine encounter, an approach that minimizes these pains and lessens the intensity of loneliness.

The question that emerges is: why does what we judge in the other offend us so much? Why do we select this or that behavior to attack? We do not rule out the possibility that the other does harm objectively, but we consider that most of what draws our attention also lies within us. For a long time, we thought the offense caused by others’ behavior was rooted in scars or fears instilled by parental figures, who taught us to judge forcefully instead of observing. The risk of this hasty judgment is great: we lose the chance to know and expand our frame of reference, repeating a generational refrain. If we do not stimulate the faculty of thinking and reflecting, the emotional knots formed in sensitive moments, such as puberty, only consolidate. Judgment thus becomes a projection of our inner fight; by giving up fighting ourselves, we start fighting others.

However, we must weigh this “psychological math” that attributes all the discomfort caused by others to something within us. Although it is an important stage of self-awareness, we would like to add that what bothers us in others is not always due to trivial or purely projective reasons. Why are we upset, for example, by genocides or flagrant injustices? Not because we have a repressed wish to commit such acts, but because there is a moral, civilizing and ethical construction that tells us certain behaviors are inappropriate and anti-civilizational. We cannot be hostage to an immediate causality that would make us equal, at some level, to everything that upsets us.

Massimo Recalcati’s work, Il vuoto e il fuoco (roughly, The Void and the Fire), offers us a valuable perspective on the nature of the symbolic Law, represented by the father. This Law is not reduced to written rules or legal norms; its ultimate purpose is to humanize life, introducing the sense of the impossible, of the “not-all.” It is the symbolic Law of castration that prohibits not only incest but every form of jouissance that claims a definitive totalization. If the jouissance of “everything” were imposed, we would have a totalitarian degeneration of human life. Preserving the space of the “not-all” is the first attribute of a healthy organization, whether individual or collective.

Finally, although we know that absolute completeness is impossible and even undesirable, since it would cancel the need for the other, we see no reason not to satisfy the incompletenesses that can be completed. We believe in duty and commitment to desire. As psychoanalyst Christian Dunker reminds us, the worst cowardice is giving up desire. If there is a longing to accomplish something, it is our obligation to move toward that accomplishment, even partially. Giving up the search for a certain completeness is also dying in life. The balance perhaps lies in a constant pendular movement: between recognizing our structural lack, which connects us to others and makes us human, and the courageous pursuit of our possible desires, avoiding both totalitarian selfishness and the cowardice of resignation. An organization, and a life, becomes generative when the symbolic dimension of the Law and that of desire are not set against each other but integrate fruitfully.