Politicians are in the business of misleading and misguiding their electorates, and have been since before Peisistratos fibbed his way onto the Acropolis. Deception transcends not only political boundaries, but also the divides between species.

Monkeys lie about who is sleeping with whom. Dogs misdirect one another away from grub. Male cuttlefish sometimes pretend to be female – on the side of their body facing a rival male. In terms of evolution, deception is often a way to have one's cake and eat it: the benefits of co-operation without the losses.

You are protected by the dominant male monkey, for example, but you still mate with "his" females. But there is a risk, of course: if discovered, the dominant male might maim or kill you, and you might drop down the group's hierarchy (or outside it altogether).

The more general point is that this kind of deception requires not only social relationships, but also trust or the expectation of reliability. As philosopher Immanuel Kant noted in the 18th century, a situation in which everyone lies is absurd, since no-one will believe one another. To deceive, we have to be believed.

Which brings us back to Abbott and his political peers, right and left. How does representative democracy work, given the high levels of distrust? Politicians currently rank near real estate agents for trustworthiness. Abbott promised to bring the "trust deficit" into surplus, but has so far been spending goodwill faster than he can earn it. The Australian electorate simply does not believe much of what politicians say – except for the gaffes that belie the party spiel.

The trick is partly one of compartmentalisation. Partisans of both sides do not care about truth in general. They want policies and statements that accord with their ideology. So leftists are outraged about Abbott's budget cuts, while rightists were furious about Gillard's "tax". While each side might – and I stress the might – recognise some deception or treachery in policies they endorse, their evaluation of it changes. Suddenly, an outright lie or calculated switcheroo is trivial, and those who complain about it are soft whiners. This can have an air of achingly grown-up Realpolitik to it: it does not matter what is promised, as long as I get the policies I want.

One problem with this approach is that it makes many citizens complicit in continual deception, deviousness and speciousness. Politics is more than management. It is how a community realises, often in conflict, its values and ideals.

When we knowingly endorse the moral failings of our representatives, we are making a commitment to these failings – they become an integral part of the society we render. In this case, Australian representative democracy is fundamentally cynical and false.

This tendency is inherent to politics, because it deals with power and partiality: different agendas seeking to rule. There is no magical land away from falsehood. But liberal democracy prides itself on a more honest, high-minded way of operating, in which voters are told what they are voting for, and politicians are held to account for telling falsely.

Polling booths and counts keep some of the mechanisms, but without trust it ceases to be government by and for the people – it becomes delegated management. Benign enough for the majority, but dangerously close to a convenient form of oligarchy, in which a select class of careerists govern while most citizens keep to themselves.

Not coincidentally, this situation is also avoided by a free press, which holds untrustworthy politicians to account – they can try to lie or break promises, but the media pull them up. I wonder which broadcaster is Australia's most trusted?

Dr Damon Young is a philosopher and author. His current work in progress is about the art of reading.