Sherman Adams' departure from the White House is less a commentary on political morality than a tragedy of a man who spoke so often and eloquently of integrity that in time he came to see himself as the embodiment of virtue itself. When the spectre of transgression rose up, he alone did not see it.

To President Eisenhower and, indeed, the nation, the absence of Mr. Adams from the post he commanded might appear even more of a loss than it might to one ex-presidential assistant. For the President is a verbal leader, albeit an inarticulate one, who filled his homilies and cliches with Mr. Adams' wisdom.

Now when the President's eyes sweep from force of habit to the old familiar spot on important documents, the "O.K., S.A." or "See me, S.A." notations will not be there. And neither will the firm hand again reach out to guide Mr. Eisenhower through the dark land of world crisis, domestic tribulation, and party politics.

As loneliness settles over the President, it might perhaps violate good taste to suggest that he assume some of Mr. Adams' duties. One should perhaps leave him with his memories of Gettysburg and Newport and muddied mentor.