No matter what you may tell others (i.e. "I'm basically a good person."), there is something at the core of your being that seems to stain even your best intentions. Like Gollum in the caves of Tolkien's trilogy, it dwells within the heart and mind of all. Rarely does this beast reach full ferocity and manifest itself so publicly in some heinous act of cruelty or depravity. But it crouches at the doorstep for each of us, insinuating itself into our daily lives.
The distance between you, or me, and Eliot Spitzer is not so great as we would imagine, or wish.
The difference between me and Eliot Spitzer is largely this: I have never been elected governor of New York.
Knowing we face a common threat, I don't dance at his downfall. I weep. Yes, I mourn for his demise, even though it may politically benefit my ideological comrades or the cause of conservatism.
I also pray. I pray for the Spitzer family, for the prostitutes who have sold their souls into opulent slavery, for the federal agents who labored at the distasteful task of uncovering the tawdry tale. I pray that justice might be done, and that each person involved would find the mercy I have found -- unmerited mercy that relieves me of my false confidence, and places my hope in the only world figure who ever successfully navigated the perils of power, both publicly and privately, because he alone had no inner-Spitzer.