Friends,

For centuries, the word true has carried two related but distinct meanings. One is about factual accuracy: fidelity to reality. The other is about loyalty: fidelity to another person or group. A true statement matches reality. A true friend sticks by your side. Both meanings have been part of English since before … well, English.

The modern word true comes from Middle English trewe, which comes from Old English trīewe or trēowe, meaning “faithful” or “trustworthy.” That word, in turn, came from Proto-Germanic triwwiz, which itself derived from the Proto-Indo-European root deru-, meaning “firm, solid, steadfast.”

The modern English words true and tree both stem from this same ancient root. So does the noun truth, which branched off from the Old English version of true the same way we got warmth from warm and length from long.

What can we learn from this true etymology? 

We moderns tend to think of truth primarily in terms of factual accuracy, but the term originally had more to do with being steadfast, faithful, or loyal. Put another way: In the history of truth, questions of loyalty came before questions of accuracy.

In our current cultural moment, questions of loyalty seem to be ascending again, with some potentially dire consequences.

Beyond “Post-Truth”

It’s become fashionable to say we live in a post-truth world, but I find that claim misleading for several reasons.

First, reality is as real as ever. Facts haven’t mysteriously turned into fictions. Gravity still works. People still bump into walls. Most of us still manage to navigate rooms without falling over the furniture. 

Second, people on all sides still believe deeply in some version of truth. Most aren’t nihilists or relativists. They still want to know what’s really going on. They just don’t trust the same people or institutions to tell them.

Third, the “post-truth” framing ignores the other, even more ancient meaning of “true,” the one that’s all about who’s loyal to whom.

We’re not living in a “post-truth” era. We’re living in a “loyalty first” era—a time in which being true to the cause has become, for many, more important than being accurate with respect to the facts.

People on the right think the mainstream media, the university professors, and the scientists receiving government funding are fundamentally disloyal. And that’s reason enough, for them, to distrust anything those people say—and to cut off their government funding, dire potential consequences be damned.

Some people on the left are equally cynical. They dismiss the claims or attack the decency of anyone who doesn’t meet their litmus tests for community membership, even if the people they’re attacking have valid concerns based on solid facts and sensible arguments.

Understanding this dynamic as a revival of loyalty-first truth, rather than an abandonment of truth altogether, helps us see what’s at stake and where hope for a better future might reside.

The Weaponization of “Truth”

Donald Trump didn’t create the current trust collapse, but he’s weaponizing “truth” in ways his predecessors never attempted. He’s not just casting doubt on others who claim to be truth-tellers. He’s trying to seize the power to define what counts as true by asserting that loyalty to him is what counts first and foremost. 

Accuracy to facts is fine in Trump’s world, but only if it follows fealty. Evidence is allowed only so long as it flatters. Science and history are useful, but only when they’re shaped to serve the “Truth Social” narrative.

This isn’t just a question of political spin. It’s a fundamental reordering of truth’s hierarchy, one that places loyalty above accuracy in a way that would have been more familiar to subjects of ancient kings than it is to today’s scholars and scientists.

What Changes, What Endures

It’s important to notice what does and doesn’t change in this reordering.

Calling the Gulf of Mexico the “Gulf of America” doesn’t change the body of water (the objective thing the words refer to). But it does change the road signs the state of Florida puts up.

Removing references to slavery from history books doesn’t change what happened in the past. But it does change the story we tell our children today, limiting their insights and curtailing their capacity to build a more just future.

Calling a man with no criminal past a “terrorist” doesn’t change the man (the objective, flesh-and-blood person). But it does change how right-wing media outlets can frame the violation of his human rights.

What changes is not the objective facts. Reality still is what it is. History still was what it was. Humanity is still as frail-yet-full-of-possibilities as ever.

What changes, crucially, is who decides what we can say about these realities.

Scientists are no longer the first authorities on the natural world. They must always (and only) seek the facts the leader wants shared.

Historians are no longer the first authorities on history. They must always (and only) tell the stories the leader wants told.

Individual conscience, with all its messiness and empathy, is no longer the first authority on humanity, dignity, and decency. We must only regard as human those the leader permits us to like.

What changes, more broadly, is the ultimate test of truth. Accuracy is no longer the gold standard. Loyalty is. Ironically, in this “loyalty-first” world, willful denial of uncomfortable facts becomes a way to prove your “truthfulness.”

Clearly, this is not a recipe for better understanding reality. Understanding reality isn’t the first priority in a world where loyalty is elevated above accuracy as the standard of truth. The first priority in this world is enforcing control. The point is to produce the sort of “truth” that terrified George Orwell and, for that matter, George Washington. This “truth” will set you free to do exactly as you’re told.

Remembering a Deeper Truth

If you find this all deeply disconcerting, you’re not alone.  

Thankfully, most of us still recognize a deeper truth, even if only implicitly: We know that, to tell the whole truth, we have to be both accurate and honest—both careful about the facts and faithful to the people with whom we share them. 

We know from hard experience that people can be untrue in different ways. Advertisers and political propagandists can use accurate facts to deceive and manipulate us. Fiction writers can reveal compelling truths through phony tales. 

We also recognize that liars are doubly unfaithful. They bury the truth while trying to cause us harm. They aim to be inaccurate; they also intend to hurt us.  

To tell the truth—in the fullest sense—we have to be doubly faithful: to reality and to each other. We have to be accurate with respect to the facts; we also have to care for one another. 

It’s not an either/or. It’s a both/and. 

That’s the deeper lesson inherent in the ancient etymology of “true.” To realize the full meaning of the word, you have to say what’s real while doing what’s right. You have to be a true friend who makes true statements.

Doing both at once can be hard, in practice. But it’s what most of us strive to do for those we love, and it’s what we expect from those who claim to be true to us. 

We should expect no less from our leaders.