Elliot Spitzer has been the top story this week. As the former governor
of New York twisted in a whirlwind of his own making, we discussed
almost every aspect of his life. We asked how a supposedly intelligent
man like Spitzer could think in this day and age he could practice adultery without it becoming public knowledge. I have chosen to use that word purposely.
Spitzer apparently used the services of high-priced prostitutes for years. He was a married man, so it seems adultery is the appropriate word to use. I don't recall hearing or reading that word in the press accounts this week. For me that is revealing. One might think that by only referring to Spitzer using prostitutes, we
avoid the issue of sin. That's understandable. We realize our media isn't in the sin business, and in fact seeks to avoid discussions of sin as that places them in a religious discussion. Sin is part of religion.
Christians and Jews both look at the Ten Commandments as important building blocks of human society. Thou shall not commit adultery is the seventh commandment. Thus, it is a sin, but our media chose not to refer to it as such, because we have lately tended to view it as a personal foible.
And that is at the heart of our conundrum. We don't want to talk about sin. To do so would force us to accept that we all sin, and Spitzer is someone who should be forgiven by us for it is up to our God to deal with Spitzer.
But we are not content to do that. Instead, we want to watch his
humiliation. And we want to punish him by forcing him, at the least, to
give up his position as governor.
As this week has passed, the Spitzer
story has tended to reveal much more about us than about him. In all
the TV footage I saw, one telling moment revealed so much about this
tragedy. When he was announcing his resignation, he made some reference
to leaving the public spotlight to work at restoring the trust of his
family. When he said that Spitzer's wife, Silda, with her sad and humiliated eyes looked up and swiveled to look into Spitzer's face. One wonders what she was thinking at that time. Perhaps she thought: "Now you worry about our trust?" Who knows? I think I saw a steely glint emerge from the pain, and if I were Elliot Spitzer, I'd be afraid of her.
