The early Greeks were fascinated by the subject, discussing it often at their frequent collegial gatherings, while many of their teachers, including both Plato and Aristotle, dealt with it at great length, often through discourse and writings. Shakespeare incorporated it in his plays, making good use of the human frailties that engendered it and that provided the kind of dramatic endings great playwrights so eagerly embrace.

The subject is less in vogue today, but, alas, Yorick, we are beginning to witness the reincarnation of Damocles and Achilles in the contemporary American lyceum. Aristotle did not label it, but for today's purpose, we shall call it the Fallen Idol Syndrome. Examples abound.

The latest to fall prey to this deadly disease is the Secretary of State of Missouri, one Judith Moriarty, a splendid woman who, only days before, was riding high on the political ranges of the Show-Me State, adored by her fellow female friends as a pioneer politician who had slain not only the dreaded Republican elephant but also the dreaded Democratic male sexism that was only happy when the woman was inferior to the mighty male. Indeed, our heroine had only a short time ago addressed a national gathering of women, where high praise was lavished upon her for her splendid electoral accomplishments.

The high and mighty, after the election of November 1992, came to praise Judi, not bury her. Praise her for the splendid electoral victory which was hers for only a paltry few thousand quid, and wonder, in secret, how on earth she managed to pull it off. It was obviously a miracle, ordained by the gods. In the aftermath of this miraculous victory, the Mighty Dame of Pettis arrived at the evil political bog known as the Statehouse, where she was properly enthroned, embraced and exalted.

All that was required after this was that the new Secretary of State carry out her duties in an office that, quite frankly, does not mandate the intelligence of a nuclear scientist or even a high school valedictorian. To invoke the wisdom of another ancient philosopher, Satchel Paige, success in administering the office could be realized "just by showing up for work every day." And the new secretary did that, greeting all who came to wonder at her success and embracing the many who wished her well.

Less than 18 months after taking the official oath of office, Judith Moriarty, who presented the state with a healthy, bouncing mauve Official Manual, is in deep trouble. The unexpected resignation of a former school chum, who must have majored in speech and dramatics, produced charges that were damaging, even while they were unbelievable. The former deputy charged that his friend and benefactor was running her new office in a political manner, favoring her Democratic friends even while she retained some of the staff of her Republican predecessor. There were charges, too, that the secretary was so busily engaged in winning new friends and influencing the skeptical that she had abdicated her duties to a sinister aide who had not enjoyed such power since he was last seen dispensing patronage for another Moriarty political pal, former governor Joe Teasdale, now of TV commercial fame in his home town of Kansas City.

The tongues began to wag, as they are prone to do, in that evil bog known as the City of Jefferson, and then, out of the blue, came still another charge, this one even more damaging than the others. It seems the wife of the first dissenting old school chum, who had also been charitably employed in the same office as her husband by friend Judi, claimed that her one-time benefactor had broken the law while registering her son as a candidate for the General Assembly. There were charges that the mother had coddled her son by actually signing his name to the declaration of candidacy, and that, as everyone instantly realized, was a no-no-no-no.

Judi's fellow Democrat across the street, Attorney General Jay Nixon, announced forthwith that he was beginning an investigation into the sordid affair. Then the prosecuting attorney of the County of Cole announced a grand jury, to which General Nixon immediately handed his sword and retired from the fray.

Damocles and Achilles. Webster and Wendell. Nixon and Agnew. And now poor Judi. Where does it end? Or does it ever end? The plot remains the same, and the crimes are not that different. As the ancient philosopher warned, "Don't look back. Something might be gaining on you."

Jack Stapleton's column is distributed by Missouri News and Editorial Service, Inc.