The president of the Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile is as entitled as anyone to his fantasies. Strictly speaking he is also entitled to act them out, provided he does so with consenting adults and within the law. As a barrister he might go farther, arguing that it makes no difference if those fantasies happen to involve orders barked in breathless German and a cast of prostitutes playing roles based on those of concentration camp guards and inmates.

But it is too late for that. The macabre performance apparently put on by Max Mosley and five call girls in the surreal world of a specially equipped Chelsea basement has, for good or ill, been dragged into the real world. The question of whether he can expect to continue in his role as one of the most powerful figures in motor sport has become a moral, not a legal, one.

He has caused mortal offence to those for whom such Nazi-themed antics are not just baffling and deviant but a grievous insult to the memory of Nazism's victims. He has stunned associates in the world of Formula One who, until now, had no reason to consider his attacks on racism within the sport anything but sincere. More broadly, his private predilections raise legitimate questions about his public persona.

Mr Mosley might claim it should not be held against him that his father was Britain's most notorious Fascist, or that these scenes became public against his wishes - but only if he were mounting a defence of extreme naivety, and he is not naive. His actions have demeaned him irreparably. They also threaten to tarnish a sport that he claims to love and whose good name he is entrusted to protect. He should resign.