The present possesses an unfair advantage over the past: it knows what happened next. From this side of the result, the warning signs look obvious, the wasted years avoidable, and the better choice almost embarrassingly clear. Hindsight makes an efficient prosecutor.
Some prosecution is warranted. We may have known enough to see that an action would harm someone and continued because it was convenient. We may have ignored a warning because listening threatened the story we preferred. Being an earlier version of oneself is not immunity from judgment.
But today's knowledge cannot simply be mailed backward. What information was actually available? Which alternatives appeared possible then? What would refusal have cost? Did the person possess the language or support that now makes another path easy to describe? These questions do not excuse the past. They locate responsibility where choice could really occur.
We should also distinguish error from change. A goal sincerely chosen at twenty may no longer matter at forty. A relationship once worth entering may later need to end. The fact that we now choose differently does not prove the earlier choice was a lie. The present has authority to revise a life, not to rewrite every former desire as false.
There are at least three tasks in judging backward: repair harm, understand limitation, and release a direction that no longer deserves continuation. Each asks for a different response. Endless self-punishment can blur them all. It feels active because the past cannot be changed, but pain inflicted now does not travel backward to educate the person who acted then.
The present self has the right to judge because it has more evidence and the burden of continuing. That right should be used neither to acquit everything nor to treat an earlier self as a contemptible stranger. The most just verdict may be: I will not deny what you did, and I will not demand that you already knew everything I learned from its consequences. What I know now must alter the next act, not merely enlarge the sentence.