Presence and Tolerance

How do we accompany those who seem frozen in their certainties? Authentic tolerance, allied with respectful presence, builds a space of trust where each person can dare to transform themselves.

The enigma of inner movement

Every human being embodies a singular path, a unique trajectory in the space of possibilities. Yet, I observe around me a troubling paradox: some people seem frozen in their representations, as if sculpted in the marble of their convictions, while others joyfully welcome doubt and are ready to question even the foundations of their worldview, without denying who they are.

What determines this capacity for inner movement? Research in humanistic psychology, notably that of Carl Rogers, provides an answer: people capable of self-questioning are those who benefit from sufficient ontological security. They feel anchored in their deep identity, not through pride or intellectual certainty, but through an intuitive knowledge of their being. This freedom of inner movement arises precisely from the consciousness of one’s own existence, independent of external supports—it’s a presence to oneself, individually assumed, without need for validation.

People who appear frozen to us are actually living a form of absence from themselves. They cling to their beliefs, their anger, their relationships, or their possessions like a shipwrecked person grasps a wreck. Without these external anchor points, they fear dissolving into nothingness. This existential fear, which Heidegger called the anxiety of Dasein facing its finitude, pushes them to rigidify their positions, to ensure, in their own way, this external support that allows their identity to stand upright. Any change then becomes a mortal threat, because their very sense of existence rests on these external structures they have erected as ramparts against an immeasurable unknown.

Mutual responsibility in accompaniment

In our human interactions, I deeply believe that we bear a double responsibility: toward ourselves and toward our peers. This responsibility is not a burden but an invitation to reciprocity. As Emmanuel Levinas says in Totality and Infinity, an Essay on Exteriority (1961), “the face of the other obliges me”, not through constraint but through the evidence of our shared humanity. Accompanying another is never unilateral care; it’s a movement of mutual recognition that also refounds us in our own humanity.

Authentic accompaniment transcends simple help or benevolent advice. It involves recognizing the other as a complete person, with their own temporality, legitimate resistances, understandable fears. The other is never reduced to an object of our intervention, but remains a sovereign subject of their own transformation.

This recognition enriches us in return. By accepting the complexity and opacity of the other, we learn to accept our own. By respecting their rhythm, we learn patience toward ourselves. This is what I call the virtuous circularity of accompaniment: by creating space for the other to be, we expand our own space of being.

Tolerance as active presence

Faced with the diversity of human paths, how can we accompany without imposing, support without suffocating? I believe the answer lies in what I would call “present tolerance,” not the polite indifference that drapes itself in relativism, but an active form of respect that simultaneously maintains self-affirmation and openness to alterity, even the most disturbing.

This tolerance requires of us a paradoxical posture: remaining firmly anchored in our own values while creating unconditional space for those of the other. Evelyn Beatrice Hall, in 1906, described Voltaire’s attitude on this subject, inventing this quote now attributed to Voltaire: “I do not agree with what you say, but I will fight to the death for your right to say it.” Yes, we must hold together disapproval and respect, disagreement and recognition.

Concretely, this means that faced with someone whose ideas shock us, we can, and must even, express our personal feelings, share our perspective, bear witness to our truth. But always while recognizing that the other inhabits a universe of meaning different from ours, shaped by a history, wounds, joys that we may not know. This recognition is not capitulation; it’s the epistemological humility that recognizes the limits of our own understanding.

Emancipation as shared horizon

What is true emancipation? Beyond academic definitions, I conceive it as the progressive capacity to think for oneself, as Emmanuel Kant said in What is Enlightenment? (1784):

“Enlightenment is man’s emergence from his self-imposed immaturity. Immaturity is the inability to use one’s understanding without guidance from another. This immaturity is self-imposed when its cause lies not in lack of understanding, but in lack of resolve and courage to use it without guidance from another.”

Kant insists that this condition is attributable to laziness and cowardice, not to a lack of intelligence. Personally, I attribute it rather to this absence from oneself, this lack of presence, which makes our existence dependent on external support.

Indeed, the risk is immense. To think for oneself is to accept sometimes standing alone before the group, questioning shared evidence, doubting collective certainties. Few people truly dare to take this risk. But, and this is the heart of my argument, those who have received, even once, the gaze of absolute tolerance, unconditional respect for their being despite ideological differences, find within themselves the courage for this movement.

The tolerance we offer thus becomes the soil for the other’s emancipation. By signifying to them that they exist independently of their opinions, we help them loosen the grip of their identifications. By respecting their rhythm, we allow them to dare change without fearing collapse.

Reciprocal transformation

This approach to accompaniment through present tolerance is not a sacrifice of self on the altar of the other. On the contrary, it constitutes a path of mutual growth. By learning to see the humanity behind ideas that disturb us, we develop our own capacity for nuance, complexity, true empathy. We emerge enlarged from these encounters, enriched with a finer understanding of the human condition.

I have observed this phenomenon many times: when we offer someone this space of unconditional respect, not only do they begin to move internally, but we ourselves discover unsuspected aspects of our own rigidity. The other’s defenses reveal our own; their vulnerability invites us to recognize ours. This is what Donald Winnicott called “transitional space,” this in-between where transformations become possible.

Winnicott articulated transitional space from the observation of young children, who use the transitional object (security blanket, stuffed animal, etc.) between inner and outer world, but contemporary psychoanalysts reinscribe this concept in adult and relational dynamics. In this sense, this psychic “in-between” effectively favors transformation, growth, and the sharing of a common humanity, founded on reciprocity and acceptance of fragilities.

Thus, accompanying in tolerance is never a unilateral act of generosity. It’s an engagement in a relational dance where each person, at their own rhythm and according to their measure, advances on their own path of humanization. It’s recognizing, as Albert Schweitzer so aptly said in his book My Life and Thought (1931), that “Example is not the main thing in influencing others, it is the only thing.” Our tolerant presence becomes this living example that authorizes the other to risk their own transformation.

The art of presence

Ultimately, faced with people very different from us, whether our child, our spouse, a colleague, or a stranger, the most fruitful path seems to me to be that of tolerant presence. Remaining anchored in oneself without denying oneself, sharing one’s ideas without imposing them, seeing in the other a human being worthy of absolute respect regardless of their positions: this is the most precious gift we can offer and receive. But this must go hand in hand with reciprocity in recognizing dignity: I must be present to myself and tolerate no power grab from the other (particularly in romantic, family, or professional relationships), otherwise tolerance is perverted into submission. The nuance is significant!

To return to the art of tolerant presence, there is, I believe, nothing more to do, and it’s already immense. This apparent simplicity hides a considerable ethical demand: that of holding together firmness and openness, conviction and humility, engagement and detachment. But the game is worth the candle, because through this daily practice of present tolerance, we participate in weaving a world where each person can dare to become who they truly are. In relationships, it’s an immense gift to others, which will also do us much good, because we will emerge enlarged in our humanity.