Trump lies.

By now this is inarguable. His lies are constant, copious, incorrigible – outlandish, whoppers – often dozens daily. Whether his lying is compulsive, pathological, or strategic, we can leave to doctors. Whether in any absolute sense, truth is knowable we can assign to fledgling alethiologists. (Alethiology is a branch of epistemology which is a branch of philosophy. Bless philosophers for bewildering us about the nature of actuality!) About his culpability let polemicists, preachers, and pundits pronounce in their respective pulpits. But that he lies – pretty much always – to benefit his interest – there can be no debate.

The dumbfounding wonder is why this should matter so little to so many. So he lies, so what? – a contemporary commonplace – throws me for a loop. First time I heard it, my jaw dropped like Captain Nutcracker’s almost to my knees. So what? You’re kidding, right?  A shrug underscored the assertion: They all do it, what’s the big deal?

Only a human could think such a thing – if think’s the right verb. All other creatures communicate the truth as they perceive it, except when they’re fooling predators. Why bamboozle your compatriots? Why get them to turn left when they should be turning right? Why tease them to their perdition? Your enemies, sure, mislead them to survive. The other day two cornered mice played dead so giant me wouldn’t mangle them: more power to them! But would mice lie to mice, birds to birds, fish to fish?

We lie to foes, not friends, deceiving to avoid danger, so we won’t get caught. There are benign lies, of course, typically about moribunds and babies (and if you’re not smitten by puppy Henry, please advise me otherwise). A kindly lie instead of wounding candor tends to be OK. But to lie always – about everything – is to infer “I hate you.”

Trump, by this measure, hates us all. Not just me – which is fair enough – but his wives, kids, fans. He’d lie to God if He met Him (how he flaunts and peddles that Bible he’s never read!). He lies about medicine, crowd size, golf scores, what he eats, what he weighs, as if to be exposed were to be denounced. For all his swagger, he’s a paragon of insecurity, more fearful than my mice at being found.

Such symptoms are not unusual. With drugs, care, time and luck, paranoids can be coaxed back to lucidity. But to elect such a sufferer President, leader of the free world, the most powerful person on the planet? Has the world gone mad?

I’m a votary of Truth. It is the divinity I serve, to which I report. Its aliases include Beauty, Kindness, Grace, God. In my thesaurus, all goodness is synonymous. Without Truth, Goodness is impossible. How can a liar love?

Truth is a hard master. The more you love it, the harder to please. You can no more overdo Truth than you can drink too much water. It cleanses, purifies, reconciles. I love Truth because it shows me the way to Love.

Truth was revered when I was a boy. George Washington ‘fessed to his cherry tree (a fable, but soundly meant). Liars’ pants were on fire. I lied a lot in defiance. But I got over it, discovered my fatuity, saw the light.

For society to survive, we must restore Truth to eminence. Liars we must either abominate or rehabilitate. Truth is not a nice-to-have, but a need-to-have, an essential precondition of community. Without Truth, life is a sick joke.

“It is the duty of everyone to spread what he believes to be the truth,” said Darwin wisely.