Arguing would destroy him. You could see him clench when someone questioned his worldview. He clenched so fast, sometimes, that his breath hissed in. He rocked back on his heels, his head tipping back so that, if his eyes had been open, he'd have been looking at the ceiling, rigid with the enormity of what he was having to bear without violence.
So I listened. Silently and out of love and duty.
Of course, this is a child's memory. I have no idea how often these rants I was silent through or how silent I actually was. They stuck in the memory, though, and had their effect.
Waiting became my standard operating procedure. Waiting for the rant to end. Waiting until I was old enough to move out and make decisions based on what I believed instead of what my Father was reacting to. Waiting until I had something worth saying.
Hint: If you spend all your tie waiting, what you learn to do is wait.