This is a world where ethical lines are neither defined nor observed, yet we keep telling people that there is nothing to be done about it

Journalists are such hypocrites. When something goes wrong outside our profession we are astride our high horses in a flash. Problems in the prison service? It is outrageous that, after ten years in office, the government has not managed to sort out something so vital to society. In the health service? Only incompetence can explain how squillions of pounds of public money could have been spent and yet still people die in our hospitals. On the trains? The government's "integrated transport policy" is obviously a catastrophe, the minister responsible should resign and a comprehensive rethink begun.

No matter what the problem, in fact, it must be fixed immediately, and, if at all possible, somebody in authority should also be sacrificed on the altar of our righteousness.

When it comes to something wrong in journalism, however, we suddenly reveal an awareness of subtlety, a willingness to see the big picture and a reluctance to rush to judgement that would do credit to a Bertrand Russell or a Mahatma Gandhi. It is as though modern British journalism were a vast, complex engine made of crystal glass: a single unwise touch on the controls, we warn outsiders, and the whole precious thing will fall in shards to the ground. Best leave well alone. Trust us. We know.

A relatively important cog in the machine, Clive Goodman of the News of the World, is now in jail for resorting to a modern form of phone-tapping, which the judge described as "serious criminal conduct" and "reprehensible in the extreme". His counsel, pleading in mitigation, portrayed Goodman as a victim of a ruthless system. His own paper had placed him in competition for royal stories with a younger reporter, and he had acted out of desperation to save his job. Yes, he had broken the law, the court heard, but it should bear in mind that "he lived life in a world where ethical lines are not always so clearly defined or observed".

Were this a train that had come off the rails, the opinion pages and columns would have the volume up to ten: the incident would obviously be a symptom of deeper malaise, revealing failure in high places and a need for decisive government action. But in the Goodman case, well, it seems that it's all very complicated and we mustn't jump to conclusions - especially about the need for privacy legislation to rein in the newspaper managers who think they have a right to know everything about everybody, and who put reporters under intense pressure to deliver.

In the case of our profession (though not of surgeons, dog-owners, police officers, train drivers, baggage handlers, or anyone else) it appears that the best and only course is quiet self-regulation, a nod and a wink from the Press Complaints Commission and steady as she goes.

And after all, we've had our ritual sacrifice. Andy Coulson, the editor of the News of the World, has resigned, accepting "ultimate responsibility" for Goodman's illegal actions. Personally, I'm not sure why this should satisfy the vengeful gods. Coulson's gesture would have been more impressive if almost every report of his going had not appended a promise - no doubt the result of discreet News International briefing - that this talented man would soon return, Blunkett-like, to a senior post in that organisation.

What makes our hypocrisy doubly hypocritical is that newspapers have chosen to elevate hypocrisy itself into the great modern sin, the tripwire for those in public life (and I use that term in its loosest sense) that most often provides journalists with an excuse to attack them. Ask the high-flying, green Prince Charles, or the errant Labour parent, Ruth Kelly; both have recently been branded with the letter H.

It must be rare indeed for anyone to express sympathy for John Reid, and yet, as he scanned the very possibly justified abuse heaped on him by the press over recent weeks (the Sun, for example, launched an appeal for the return of his brain, which had allegedly gone missing), he would surely have been entitled to regard himself as a victim of media hypocrisy.

Never a week goes by without journalists in this country doing something unethical, unsavoury or illegal, and almost always it is in pursuit of trivial stories with no plausible public interest justification. As Goodman's counsel pointed out, and no sane person would dispute, this is a world where ethical lines are neither defined nor observed. Yet we journalists keep telling people that there is nothing to be done about it, or that it is all innocent fun, or that the victims are asking for it, or that it is a regrettable but necessary by-product of freedom of speech. And by happy chance, as professional propagandists who dominate the principal forum of public debate, we always find it easy to win the argument.

Reid must be tempted to fall on the floor sometimes, and to chew the carpet in rage at the sheer shamelessness of it.

Brian Cathcart is professor of journalism at Kingston University

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