Patience with the Faults of Another

Blindness to virtue leaves us incapable of coping with faults. In a world where we lack the tools to address our shortcomings in meaningful ways, strangely the vices of those around us seem like problems for us to solve. Incapable of improving ourselves, many of us feel compelled to conduct the lives of other people.

As we cannot successfully hold ourselves to our own word, bossing around the rest of the world is sure to be an exercise in futility and extreme frustration.

One of the most disturbing examples of this resides in internet chat rooms and social media groups for women. Wives irate with their husbands turn to strangers on the internet to police their spouse’s behavior. The smallest infraction on the part of the husband is quickly deemed negligence, abuse, or evidence of cheating. Almost without fail, the thread of comments devolves into echoing cries to divorce the man because “you deserve better.” But who are you and do you really deserve better than the person to whom you pledged your fidelity? What is the alternative?

An example of what it means to have patience with the faults of another is found in the 1952 film The Quiet Man. The movie, at times painfully slow, gives a stylized look into Irish village life. The stunning countryside is the backdrop for a small cast of characters whose lives become intimately intertwined in daily life and marriage.

The inimitable John Wayne plays the character of Thornton, an Irish-born American boxer, who returns to the place of his birth to acquire the old family farm and escape his troubled past. He quickly takes an interest in the red-headed spinster and sometimes shrew Mary Kate Danaher, played by Maureen O’Hara.

The village matchmaker (and bookie) Michaleen Oge Flynn works to unite the pair, and the film quickly establishes Mary Kate’s brother, the fiery tempered Will Danaher, as the seeming villain of the film. After a fraught courtship, the pair finally wed, but Mary Kate behaves outrageously because she does not receive her full dowry, relegating her new husband to a sleeping bag in the living room on their wedding night.

From the outset of the film, there’s a temptation to view the characters as bumpkins in need of improvement. Will Danaher drinks too much and is “toxic masculinity” to a tee, lording his authority over his unwed sister who is under his protection. Surely, he needs to be taken down a peg.

Mary Kate is a wild woman with no regard for other people’s feelings as she storms about and makes demands. Clearly, she also needs to be taken down a peg.

As for Michaleen, surely, he needs to be checked into a 28-program to sober up.

As the endearing tale unfolds, there is less of a temptation to fix everyone. After all, we have precious little evidence that this actually works. As Thornton navigates the obscure and sometimes foolish-looking customs of the village, the viewer’s expectations change. By becoming part of this small world with all its idiosyncrasies, Thornton is not an outsider imposing order and wiser perspective from the civilized world but a wounded man finding healing among equally flawed people.

In the final scene when Will Danaher and Sean Thornton drunkenly stumble, singing loudly while leaning on each other, we catch a glimpse of what we can realistically hope for in this life. People with difficult and oppositional personalities have a moment of mutual rejoicing after submitting their prideful egos to tradition and the needs of those they love.