By Robert J. Samuelson

Wednesday, January 28, 1998; Page A17

It is bad form in the column-writing business to refer to your own past columns. But let me temporarily ignore that sensible injunction to recall a column written in June 1993 -- less than six months into Clinton's presidency -- that asserted: "he lies." This reluctant conclusion had nothing to do with Clinton's sex life or the mini-scandals already attending the White House (Travelgate, Whitewater). It concerned only policy and politics, the substance of government. I argued that Clinton's regular lies courted trouble. They could undermine his presidency and deepen public cynicism toward national leaders. So it now seems.

However the Lewinsky episode ends -- whether or not the charges prove true -- someone so often accused of lying is not likely to be wholly innocent. By now this is conventional wisdom among Washington's political elite and press corps. Still, they avoid the indelicate and inflammatory "L word" by substituting soft euphemisms. Clinton gives the "non-denial denial" or is a "master of spin." All these catch-phrases recognize Clinton's central conceit: that he can make the truth what he wishes through his superb command of language and his immense personal charm.

It is a mistake to think that the "bad" private Clinton is ruining the "good" public Clinton. He is not Jekyll and Hyde. There is a constancy of character between private and public, past and present. Clinton is the same man now who as governor caused Paul Greenberg, the editorial page editor of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, to call him "slick Willie." His deceptions are not just a way to hide personal embarrassments (sexual affairs, marijuana smoking or draft evasion) but also to project his policies and political persona.

What I call a lie is the conscious effort to make something seem what it is not. This can mean outright untruths or calculated distortions, omissions and qualifications. The intent remains the same: to deceive. A small incident recounted in my 1993 column convinced me that Clinton is a compulsive liar. During one campaign debate, he was asked whether he supported higher auto fuel-efficiency requirements: a policy opposed by many auto workers and one that could hurt him in Michigan.

No, he said. He favored "the goal" of better fuel efficiency, and "I defy you to find" evidence that he endorsed tougher regulation. Well, the evidence was on Page 98 of "Putting People First," the campaign's manifesto. I pointed out the discrepancy to a high press aide, who denied a discrepancy existed. From this, I concluded that Clinton had a casual attitude toward truth that contaminated those about him. Some like-minded people would enlist with him; others would have to defend his deceits.

All politicians (it will be said) bend the truth. This may be, but what distinguishes Clinton is the quantity and routineness of his deceptions. Fact and fiction constantly commingle. What's convenient is exaggerated. What's not is denied or altered. Before his first inaugural, Clinton gave an interview to Thomas Friedman of the New York Times on foreign policy. Friedman wrote that Clinton hinted he might restore diplomatic relations with Saddam Hussein. Clinton said he was "astonished" at this conclusion. A transcript verified the story; Clinton apologized.

In 1995 he told wealthy campaign contributors that he raised their taxes too much. Clinton probably felt that the throwaway line, which disavowed part of his budget plan, wouldn't be noticed. When it was, he retracted it. "My mother once said I should never give a talk after 7 o'clock at night, especially if I'm tired," he told reporters. They laughed; the incident was defused. Did his mother actually say this? Probably not.

Clinton's deceptions have extended to weightier matters. In the 1992 campaign, he implied that he would enable most college students to pay for their tuition with two years of "national service": an impossibly expensive plan. His national health proposal in 1993 was a bundle of contradictions whose existence he simply denied. In 1995 he denounced Republican Medicare plans by saying -- untruthfully -- that they would "destroy" the program.

Unlike many who find Clinton dishonest, I don't think he's evil. He's a solid centrist, which is good. People rightly judge him to be sympathetic to their everyday concerns. Some of his policies (mainly on trade and global economics) I like; others I don't. But Clinton is also totally self-absorbed. What inhibits most people from routine lies is a sense of shame. Clinton lacks this. Or it recedes before his obsession with self -- his need for instant personal or political gratification. Either way, his presidency has been crippled.

Lies have consequences. Among politicians, Clinton inspires little trust. Because his word is not his bond, even his nominal allies don't bond with him. As a result, Clinton has few major legislative achievements. One accomplishment -- narrowing the budget deficit -- stems mainly from a strong economy and the end of the Cold War. Clinton's style has also stifled debate on vital issues. For example, he's now urging that the country prepare for the retirement of the baby boom.

Good idea. The trouble is that Clinton has prevented a debate by attacking and isolating those who tried to start it. Stigmatizing the GOP Medicare proposals was but one example. On many matters (affirmative action, campaign finance, welfare), Clinton's lofty rhetoric -- though initially seductive -- ultimately is not credible, because he straddles both sides of issues. Choices are obscured; informed discourse suffers.

Even if Clinton recovers, he's perpetuated inquisitional politics. Perhaps this is the worst consequence. People may distrust him, but they're also rightly appalled by the process that's wounded him. Investigations have lost proportion. A $12 million investigation led to the indictment of a former Cabinet secretary for taking $35,000 in dubious gifts. The press badgers officials. Lines between public and private lives have blurred.

Something is askew. Partisans and the press need to exercise more self-restraint. The independent counsel law needs to be narrowed. But change requires a favoring climate: a president whose conduct does not invite and reward open-ended dredging for muck. Clinton has not been that president.