## 1. Introduction


### 1.1 Background



Most of the detailed engagement with loyalty has come from creative
writers (Aeschylus, 2003; Galsworthy, 1922; Conrad, 1899, 1907, 1913),
business and marketing scholars (Goman, 1990; Jacoby & Chestnut,
1978), psychologists (Zdaniuk & Levine, 2001), psychiatrists
(Boszormenyi-Nagy, 1973), sociologists (Connor,
2007), scholars of religion (Sakenfeld, 1985; Spiegel, 1965),
political economists (Hirschman, 1970, 1974),
and--pre-eminently--political theorists who took a
particular interest in nationalism, patriotism and loyalty oaths
(Grodzins, 1956; Schaar, 1957; Guetzkow, 1955). Because of its focus
on familial relations, Confucian thought has long been interested in
loyalty (Goldin, 2008; see also the section on
  Filiality and Care 
 in the entry on Chinese Ethics for more on loyalty and related
debates in Confucian and Mohist ethics). The grand Western
philosophical exception has been Josiah Royce (1908, 1913), who,
influenced by eastern philosophy (Foust, 2012b, 2015), created an
ethical theory centering on "loyalty to loyalty." Royce
has generated a steady but specialized interest (see, esp. Foust,
2012a, 2011, forthcoming). Since the 1980s, though, some
independent philosophical discussion has begun to emerge (Baron, 1984;
Fletcher, 1993; Oldenquist, 1982; MacIntyre, 1984; Nuyen, 1999;
Keller, 2007; Jollimore, 2012; Felten, 2012; Kleinig, 2014), not only
generally and in the context of political theory, but also in the
areas of occupational and professional ethics (McChrystal, 1992, 1998;
Trotter, 1997; Hajdin, 2005; Hart & Thompson, 2007; Schrag, 2001;
Coleman, 2009; Foust, 2018), whistleblowing (Martin, 1992; Varelius,
2009), friendship (Bennett, 2004), and virtue theory (Ewin, 1992).


### 1.2 Roots



Although the term "loyalty" has its immediate philological
origins in Old French, its older and mostly abandoned linguistic roots
are in the Latin *lex* (law). Nevertheless, dimensions of the
phenomenon that we now recognize as loyalty are as ancient as human
association, albeit often manifested in its breaches (disloyalty,
betrayal). The Old Testament writers were often occupied with the
fickleness of human commitments, whether to God or to each other. To
characterize such fickleness they tended to use the language of
(un)faithfulness, though nowadays we might be inclined to use the more
restricted language of (in)fidelity, which has regard to specific
commitments. In medieval to early modern uses of the term, loyalty
came to be affirmed primarily in the oath or pledge of fealty or
allegiance sworn by a vassal to his lord. That had an interesting
offshoot as monarchical feudalism lost sway: loyal subjects who were
distressed by the venality of sitting sovereigns found it
necessary--as part of their effort to avoid charges of
treason--to distinguish their ongoing loyalty to the institution
of kingship from their loyalty to a particular king.


## 2. The nature of loyalty



As a working definition, loyalty can be characterized as a practical
disposition to persist in an intrinsically valued (though not
necessarily valuable) associational attachment, where that involves a
potentially costly commitment to secure or at least not to jeopardize
the interests or well-being of the object of loyalty. For the most
part, an association that we come to value for its own sake is also
one with which we come to identify (as *mine* or
*ours*).


### 2.1 A practical disposition or only a sentiment?



The nature of loyal attachment is a matter of debate. The strong
feelings and devotion often associated with loyalty have led some to
assert that loyalty is only or primarily a feeling or
sentiment--an affective bondedness that may express itself in
deeds, the latter more as an epiphenomenon than as its core. As Ewin
put it, loyalty is an "instinct to sociability" (Ewin,
1990, 4; cf. Connor, 2007). But feelings of loyalty are probably not
constitutive of loyalty, even if it is unusual to find loyalties that
are affectless. Arguably, the test of loyalty is conduct rather than
intensity of feeling, primarily a certain "stickingness"
or perseverance--the loyal person acts for or stays with or
remains committed to the object of loyalty even when it is likely to
be disadvantageous or costly to the loyal person to remain so.



Those who focus on loyalty as a sentiment often intend to deny that
loyalty might be rationally motivated. But even though expressions of
loyalty may not be maximizing (in cost-benefit terms), the decision to
commit oneself loyally may be rational, for one need not (indeed,
ought not to) enter into associations blindly, or--even when they
are initially unavoidable (as with familial or national
ones)--accept their demands unthinkingly. Moreover, once made,
such commitments may be forfeited by the objects of loyalty should
there be serious failure on their part, or they may be overridden in
the face of significantly greater claims. One loyalty may trump
another; other values may trump loyalty.



Unsentimental loyalties, such as the zealous but unsentimental
professional loyalty of a lawyer to a client, are not unthinking, but
have their rationale in professional or associational *tele*,
such as that of the adversarial system (however, see McChrystal, 1992,
1998). It is to this shared professional commitment that the lawyer is
ultimately committed, not as a matter of mere sentiment but of
deliberative choice.



Posing the issue as one of either "practical disposition"
or "sentiment" is probably too stark. Some evolutionary
biologists/psychologists see loyalty as a genetically transmitted
adaptive mechanism, a felt attachment to others that has survival
value (Wilson, 1993, 23). Given what is often seen as the
self-sacrificial character of individual loyalty, such loyalty is
taken to be directed primarily to group survival (West, 1945, 218).
But it is not clear what any such explanatory account shows. What
"loyalty" may have begun as (defense of the group against
threat) and what it has come to be for reflective beings need not be
the same. Nor would it impugn what loyalty has come to be that it
began as a survival mechanism (presuming an adaptive account to be
correct).


## 3. The structure of loyalty


### 3.1 Loyalty and loyalties



Sometimes we use "loyalty" to refer to the practical
disposition to persevere in affiliational attachments. More commonly
we speak of loyalties to specific associations. Our generic
disposition to be loyal is expressed in *loyalties* to certain
kinds of natural or conventional associations, such as friendships,
families, organizations, professions, countries, and religions. There
is a reason for this. Associations that evoke and exact our loyalty
tend to be those with which we have become deeply involved or
*identified*. This is implicit in the working
definition's reference to "intrinsically valued
associational attachments." Intrinsically valued associational
attachments are usually those with which we have developed some form
of social identification. We have come to value the associational bond
for its own sake (whatever may have originally motivated it). Our
loyalties are not just to any groups that may exist, or even to any
group with which we have some association, but only to those to which
we are sufficiently closely bound to call *ours*. My loyalties
are to *my* friends, *my* family, *my*
profession, or *our* country, not yours, unless yours are also
mine. In such identifications, the fate or well-being of the objects
of loyalty become bound up with one's own. We feel shame or
pride in their doings. We will take extra risks or bear special
burdens for them.



Although our primary loyalties tend to be to associations or groupings
that are socially valued, such that loyalty may seem to be an
important practical disposition, this need not be the case. For in
theory, any association can become intrinsically important to us,
whether or not it is generally valued, and it may do so even if it is
socially despised. Gangs and crime families, may become objects of
loyalty no less than professional associations and siblings.


### 3.2 Is loyalty inherently exclusionary?



It has sometimes been suggested that "*A* can be loyal to
*B* only if there is a third party *C* ... who
stands as a potential competitor to *B*" (Fletcher, 1993,
8). It is true that many, if not most, expressions of loyalty occur
against the background of some challenge to *B*'s
interests whose protection by *A* will be at some cost to
*A*. Failures of loyalty often result in betrayal (*of*
*B*, sometimes *to* *C*). Thus, defending
one's spouse in the face of criticism may also subject oneself
to vilification (by *C*); refusing to leave one's
university for another (*C*) may involve a sacrifice of pay and
other opportunities; and patriotic loyalty may involve volunteering
for military service when one's country is attacked (by
*C*). Sometimes, however, the loyal friend will simply manifest
the loyalty by being responsive to *B*'s need at some
inconvenience. The loyal *A* will get up at 2.00am to fetch
*B* when *B*'s car has broken down or will agree
to be best man at *B*'s wedding even though it will
involve a long flight and great expense. No third party is involved,
but there will be a cost to *A*. The incentive to disloyalty is
more likely to be found in the blandishments of self-interest or
self-maximization than in external temptations to side with a
competitor's interests (Kleinig, forthcoming).



Some defenders as well as critics of loyalty take the frequent
presence of *C* as a reason for seeing loyalty as inherently
unfriendly. To put it in the words of the political consultant, James
Carville, "sticking with" *B* requires
"sticking it to" *C* (Carville, 2000). No doubt
some loyalties--especially political ones--frequently
express themselves in such terms. But jingoism is not necessary to
patriotic loyalty (*pace* Tolstoy, 1894), and in most contexts
the privileging of an object of loyalty (*B*) does not require
treating others (*C*) badly. Loyalty to one's own
children need not involve the disparagement of others'
children.


### 3.3 Universalism and particularism



Loyalty is generally seen as involving particularistic, or special,
obligations to the individual or groups to whom one is loyal and thus
as a particularistic virtue (as contrasted with, say, the virtue of
honesty, which is to be exercized toward all). Although Royce elevated
"loyalty to loyalty" into a universalistic principle,
there has been much debate concerning the relation between
particularistic obligations, such as those associated with loyalty and
gratitude (McConnell, 1983), and universalistic, or general,
obligations owed to all by virtue of their humanity. Are
particularistic obligations subsumable under universalistic ones or
are they independently derived? If the latter, do they stand in
permanent tension (obligations to the poor vs. obligations to
one's children)? How, if at all, are conflicts to be resolved?
The discussion has its modern roots in Enlightenment ideas of equal
respect and of what is therefore owed to all by virtue of their common
humanity. Both consequentialism and Kantian universalism have some
difficulty in accommodating virtues such as loyalty, and on occasion
have eschewed the latter. As the consequentialist William Godwin
notoriously asked: "What magic is there in the pronoun
'my,' that should justify us in overturning the decisions
of impartial truth?" (Godwin, 1946, vol. 1, 127).



Although most classical theorists have tended to accord moral priority
to universalistic obligations, there have been important exceptions.
Andrew Oldenquist has argued for the primacy of certain communal
domains defined by our loyalties ("all morality is tribal
morality"), within which considerations of impartiality may
operate: "our wide and narrow loyalties define moral communities
or domains within which we are willing to universalize moral
judgments, treat equals equally, protect the common good, and in other
ways adopt the familiar machinery of impersonal morality"
(Oldenquist, 1982, 178, 177; cf. MacIntyre, 1984). Although Oldenquist
denies that there is a nontribal, universalist morality, thus seeking
to deprive the universalist of any independent traction, he does not
do much to establish the primacy of the tribal apart, perhaps, from a
certain temporal developmental priority.



Bernard Williams argued that if the claims of universalism (whether of
the consequentialist or Kantian kind) are given pre-eminence, they
will alienate people from their "ground projects," where
the latter include the deep attachments associated with loyalties.
Williams obviously has a point, though even he conceded that such
projects are not impervious to universalistic challenges (Williams,
1981, 17-18).



Many systematic moral theorists attempt to subsume particularistic
obligations such as loyalty under larger universalistic obligations.
R.M. Hare, for example, adopted a two-tiered consequentialist position
that seeks to justify the particularistic obligations of loyalty
within a broader consequentialist schema: we contribute more
effectively to overall well-being if we foster particularistic
obligations. Reflecting on the particularism of mother love and
loyalty, he writes: "If mothers had the propensity to care
equally for all the children in the world, it is unlikely that
children would be as well provided for even as they are. The dilution
of the responsibility would weaken it out of existence" (Hare,
1981, 137). Unfortunately, simply being aware of the general
obligation may be sufficient to evacuate the particularistic
obligation of much of its power--and, indeed, to call it into
question. Moreover, it may overlook the distinctive source of the
particularistic obligation--not in the needs of children so much
as in their being *one's own.*



Peter Railton has attempted to find a place for loyalties within a
broadly consequentialist framework that avoids both alienation and the
problems confronting Hare's two-tiered system. According to
Railton, there are good consequentialist reasons for acting on
particularistic preferences, consequentialist reasons that do not
undercut but honor the particularism of those preferences.
Railton's defense trades on a distinction between subjective and
objective consequentialism, the objective consequentialist (whom he
supports) being committed to the course of action available to an
agent that would maximize the good (Railton, 1984, 152). That, he
believes, does not require that the agent consciously decide to
maximize the good--indeed, it may require that the agent not make
such calculations. Overall, then, a loyalty to friends and family, and
commitment to ground projects may maximize good, even though, were one
to make a subjective calculation, it would undermine the loyalty or
commitment. Although there is some debate about the success of this
strategy (Wilcox, 1987; Conee, 2001), it goes some way to countering
the common perception that universalistic (or impersonal) theories can
find no place for particularist obligations.



Another two-tiered system, but of a nonconsequentialist variety, is
suggested by Alan Gewirth (1988), who accords primacy to the principle
that it is a necessary condition for human agency that all be accorded
equal rights to freedom and well-being. That commitment, he believes,
will also be sufficient to ground special obligations such as those
finding expression in personal, familial, and national loyalties. It
serves as such a ground because the commitment to individual freedom
permits the formation of voluntary associations, including
"exclusive" ones, as long as they do not interfere with
others' basic freedom. Such voluntary associations are formed
not merely for instrumental purposes, as contributions to our freedom,
but are expressive of it. A persisting problem for this account
concerns the resolution of conflicts between obligations that arise
out of our associational commitments (say, to our families) and those
that arise directly out of the general principle (say, to assist the
world's needy). This is of course a general problem, and not
just one for Gewirth; but it raises a question about the success of
Gewirth's distinctive project, which was to develop a systematic
alternative to the moral pluralism that he associates with Isaiah
Berlin, Michael Walzer, and Thomas Nagel.



It may be that particularistic obligations such as those of loyalty
have to be considered as sui generis, products not simply of our
common humanity but of our sociality, of the self-realizing
significance of associational bonds--most particularly
friendships, but also various other associational connections that
come to be constitutive of our identity and ingredients in our
flourishing. That leaves, of course, the problem of resolving
conflicts with universalistic obligations when they occur. We may,
with Scheffler, wish to argue that the reasons generated by
particularistic associations are "presumptively decisive"
in cases in which conflict arises (Scheffler, 1997, 196), though that
would need to be integrated in some way with judgments about the value
to be attributed to particular associations.


### 3.4 The subjects of loyalty



Individual persons are typically the one's who are loyal (i.e.,
the subjects of loyalty), but being loyal is not restricted to
individual persons. Mutuality is a feature of many loyalties, and it
is often a normative expectation of the loyal individual that the
collectivity to which the individual is loyal will also be loyal in
return (Ogunyemi, 2014). Just as we personify organizations, regarding
them as in some sense responsible actors, so we can attribute loyalty
to them or--more often-- bemoan their lack of loyalty to
those who have been loyal to them.



May animals be loyal? Tales of canine loyalty are legion, and even
among wild animals, especially those that move in social groups,
loyalty is often said to be shown. To the extent that loyalty is seen
as an adaptive sentiment, we may think that animals are capable of
loyalty. That may be a convenient way of characterizing animal
behavior (what Aristotle refers to as a "natural" virtue),
though, as Fletcher observes, the kind of loyalty shown is limited
because such loyalty cannot be betrayed. The dog who is distracted by
the burglar's steak does not betray its owner; its training has
simply been inadequate. It is also limited because it is the kind of
loyalty that, if displayed by humans, would be characterized as
"blind" and therefore likely to expose one to moral peril
(Blamires, 1963, 24).


### 3.5 The objects of loyalty



As noted, the primary objects of loyalty tend to be persons, personal
collectivities (such as families), or quasi-persons such as
organizations (the company for which one works) or social groups
(one's church congregation). Some argue that it is only to such
that we can be loyal (Ladd, 1967; Baron, 1984). But that is at odds
with the view that almost "anything to which one's heart
can become attached or devoted" may also become an object of
loyalty--principles, causes, brands, ideas, ideals, and
ideologies (Konvitz, 1973, 108). Royce himself argued that loyalty is
the "willing and practical and thoroughgoing devotion of a
person to a cause" (Royce, 1908, 16-17). In response,
those who personalize the objects of loyalty point out that we have
equally available to us the language of commitment or devotion and, in
the case of what is spoken of as "loyalty to one's
principles," we have the language of integrity.



There is some reason to favor the more restrictive focus for loyalty.
Our core loyalties, which also happen to be those that are
psychologically more powerful (Walzer, 1970, 5), tend to secure the
viability and sometimes the integrity of our particular human
associations. To the extent that our moral obligations encompass not
only our relations with other human beings in general but also our
relationships with particular others--our friends, families,
fellow citizens, and so on--loyalty will be partially
constitutive and sustaining of these particular others in contexts in
which narrow or short-term self-interest is likely to be better served
by abandoning them. If we further argue that the core of morality is
concerned with the quality of relationships that people have with each
other, both as fellow humans and in the various associative groups
that they form, then loyalty will constitute an important dimension of
that relational network. Even the "cause" with which Royce
associates loyalty is ultimately articulated in terms of devotion to a
community (Royce, 1908, 20; 1913, vol. 1, xvii).

 Although the
object of loyalty is another individual or association, not a cause,
value, or ideal, there is, nevertheless, an important connection
between our loyalties to individuals and groups, and the causes,
values, and ideals to which we subscribe. In identifying with the
object of our loyalty, there is usually *implicit* in our
loyalty a judgment that its object meshes with that for which we
stand. That is, embedded in those associations to which our loyalty is
given are certain presumptions about the compatibility of the basic
values attributable to the object of loyalty with those to which we
are committed (not that the values themselves are what ground the
loyalty, for that might suggest that the loyalty is to the values). To
the extent that we discover it to be otherwise we have a reason for
taking some action--either to try to bring about a change in the
object of our loyalty (what Albert Hirschman [1970] calls giving
voice) or to abandon it (Hirschman's exit option) on the ground
that it has forfeited its claim to our loyalty. There may, of course,
be some sort of persistence of loyalty despite a recognition that the
object of loyalty is no longer worthy of it. In such cases, the
loyalty seems to ride on some commitment to an associational ideal
("He will always be our son.").


In theory, nothing prevents the "personal" object of
loyalty being the whole human race (*pace* Ladd, 1967). A
universalist particularism can be found in some environmental
contexts, when the future of humanity is up for consideration,
or--as it was nicely illustrated in Mary Shelley's
*Frankenstein*--when Victor Frankenstein decided not to
jeopardize the human race by creating a companion for his monster
(Shelley, 1831 [1957, 187]). In contexts in which the human race can itself
be viewed as a collectivity, loyalty to it may be
attributed--though that may sometimes generate charges of
speciesism (Bernstein, 1991).


## 4. Loyalty as a virtue



Mark Twain (1935) and Graham Greene ("the virtue of
disloyalty," 1973) notwithstanding, there is greater agreement
that disloyalty is a vice than that loyalty is a virtue (Kleinig,
forthcoming). Perhaps the frequency with which the demand for
loyalty is used to "justify" engagement in unethical
conduct has led to cynicism about its value. There is a certain
resonance to the saying that "when an organization wants you to
do right, it asks for your integrity; when it wants you to do wrong,
it demands your loyalty." What might it be about loyalty that
makes it vulnerable to such uses?



There are those who, on the basis of their particular theory of
virtue, deny that loyalty could be a virtue. R.E. Ewin, for example,
argued that because loyalty can be badly placed (as in the case of the
loyal Nazi) and because, once formed, it requires us not merely to
suspend our own judgment about its object but even to set aside good
judgment (Ewin, 1992, 403, 411), its pretensions to the status of a
virtue are undermined, for the virtues are, he argued, internally
linked to some idea of good judgment. The worth of any particular
loyalty is thus reducible to judgments about the worth of the
associations to which loyalty is given or the legitimacy of what is
done as a result of them and is not due to loyalty in general being a
virtue.



There are two problems with this account. First, the understanding of
the virtues may be thought too restrictive. As with loyalty,
conscientiousness and sincerity can be directed to unworthy objects,
but conscientiousness and sincerity do not for that reason fail as
virtues. It is arguable that had Ewin given consideration to the view
that virtues operate, as Philippa Foot puts it, "at a point at
which there is some temptation to be resisted or deficiency of
motivation to be made good" (Foot, 1978, 8)--he might have
been able to accommodate them within a catalogue of virtues.
Perseverance in human associations often requires individuals to make
sacrifices for the good of the individual or group with whom the
individual associates, sacrifices that self-interest naturally tempts
us not to make.



The second problem has to do with the idea that loyalty requires us to
set aside good judgment. No doubt something of that kind is attempted
by those who seek to exploit loyalty (and other virtues such as
generosity and kindness). But the well-established idea of a
"loyal opposition" should give pause to the suggestion
that loyalty requires complaisance or servility (see section 6,
Limiting Loyalty). Further, if the setting aside of good judgment is
sought, there is nothing to stop a person--albeit with a heavy
heart--from questioning whether the object of loyalty may have
forfeited claims to it. The trust that tends to accompany loyalty need
not encompass gullibility and credulity. In the ordinary course of
events, the trust that accompanies loyalty has a judgment of
trustworthiness as its background.



Ewin's challenge does, nevertheless, raise the important
question whether judgments about the worth of loyalty are reducible to
judgments about the worth of the associations to which loyalty is
given or the legitimacy of what is done as a result of them. Does
loyalty have any value independent of the particular associational
object with which it is connected or is its value bound up exclusively
with the object of loyalty? There is disagreement on this (paralleling
disagreements about the obligatoriness of promise keeping). Some argue
that loyalty is virtuous or vicious depending on what is done out of
loyalty. Others argue that loyalty is always virtuous, albeit
overridden when associated with immoral conduct. In the case of a
loyal Nazi whose loyalty expresses itself in anti-semitic forms, we
could respond in one of two ways. On the one hand, we could point to
the fact that the loyalty is likely to aggravate the harm caused. On
the other hand, were such a Nazi to act disloyally by allowing Jews
who bribed him to escape, we could argue that he is doubly
deficient--self-serving and defective in his capacity to form
close bonds. Certainly the value of particular associations is of
importance to how we value loyalty to those associations; but it is
doubtful whether the value of loyalty is simply reducible to the value
of the association in question. A person without loyalty or incapable
of forming loyalties would seem to be defective as a person.



If loyalty is a virtue, what kind of virtue is it? The virtues are a
mixed bag, conceptually and normatively. There are, for example, moral
and intellectual virtues, Christian and pagan virtues. In the instant
case, there is a distinction between substantive and executive
virtues. The substantive virtues include compassion, fellow-feeling,
kindness, and generosity, whereas the executive virtues include
sincerity, courage, industriousness, and conscientiousness.
Substantive virtues motivate us to act well, that is, to do good, and
are critical to our moral relations with others (and, in the case of
prudence, to our own interests as well). The executive virtues, or, as
they are sometimes known, virtues of the will, are important to the
implementation of what the substantive virtues require of
us--sincerity in our compassion, courage in our kindness,
conscientiousness in our generosity. They help us to surmount
obstacles to our doing good. Loyalty, like sincerity, is an executive
virtue, and its worth in a particular case is especially sensitive to
the value of its object. Like other executive virtues, it can become
attached to unworthy objects--one may be a loyal Nazi or sincere
racist. But that does not make their virtuousness merely contingent or
optional. A world or person without sincerity or conscientiousness or
loyalty would be a seriously deficient one. The capacity and ability
to persevere in human associations that may require sacrifices from us
are important to develop and exercise, and are what the virtue of
loyalty consists in. Thus, insofar as we express loyalty in particular
loyalties, we should distinguish the assessment of whether someone has
the virtue of loyalty from assessments of the worth of particular
loyalties.



The executive virtues are an important ingredient in human excellence,
but, like all virtues, they should not be cultivated in isolation from
the substantive ones. When Aristotle discussed the virtues, he argued
for the importance of *phronesis* or practical wisdom in the
application of the virtues so that they would not be deficient,
excessive, or misplaced. In the fully virtuous person, the virtues
were never meant to be possessed in isolation but as an integrated
cluster--one of the things the ancients were plausibly getting at
when they spoke of the unity of the virtues.



There is sometimes a further question about whether loyalty, even if a
virtue, should be seen as a moral virtue. Loyalty may be thought
excellent to have--even a component of a good life--but is
it essentially a moral disposition? The divisions among virtues (say,
intellectual, moral, personal, and social) are, however, at best
unclear and probably overlapping. Kindness is almost always morally
commendable, but imaginativeness (often said to be an intellectual
virtue), courage (usually categorized as a personal virtue) and
reliability (sometimes called a social virtue) may be shown on the
sports field or by enemy soldiers as well as in contexts that render
them morally commendable. There may be no great value in attempts to
differentiate loyalty (and other virtues) into rigid and exclusive
categories. What is almost certainly arguable is that a person who is
completely devoid of loyalties would be deficient as a person
understood inter alia as a moral agent.


## 5. Justifying loyalty



There is a great deal of contingency to the development of loyalties.
The loyalties we develop to family, tribe, country, and religion often
emerge almost naturally as we become increasingly aware of the social
relations that have formed us. Our identifications can be very deep
and are often unquestioning. For some writers, this unchosenness is
what distinguishes loyalty from other commitments such as fidelity
(Allen, 1989). But loyalty also extends to consciously acquired
relational commitments, as we choose to associate with particular
people, groups, and institutions. Whether those latter loyalties
develop depends on the extent to which the associations we choose to
be involved in acquire some intrinsic significance for us beyond any
instrumental value that may have first attracted us to them. Such
explanatory accounts, however, do not justify the loyalties we form or
may be inclined to form. Yet, because loyalties privilege their
objects, the provision of a justification is important.



For some writers, the distinction between chosen and unchosen
loyalties is critical. Simon Keller, for example, considers that our
general unwillingness to question unchosen loyalties exhibits the lack
of integrity often referred to as bad faith. Once we have such
loyalties--he focuses on patriotic loyalties--we are
resistant to their scrutiny and self-defensively discount challenges
to them (Keller, 2005; 2007). There may be some truth to the view that
we are more likely to show bad faith as far as our unchosen loyalties
are concerned, but it may be difficult to offer that as a general
comment on unchosen loyalties. There may be no more reason not to call
our patriotism into question when we see how our country is behaving
than there is not to call a friendship into question when we see how
our friend is behaving. It may be psychologically harder (and a moral
hazard associated with loyalties) to challenge unchosen loyalties, but
that does not sustain a general judgment about them.



Some have treated arguments for associational loyalty as though they
were cut from the same cloth as general arguments for associational
obligations. They have, therefore, embedded claims for loyalty in
"fair-play" or
"natural-duty-to-support-just-institutions" arguments for
associational obligations. But whatever the merits of such arguments
as grounds for general institutional obligations, they do not provide
grounds for the particularistic obligations that we connect with
loyalty. They do not capture the particularity of such obligations.
Even consent-based arguments are insufficiently particularistic.
Leaving aside the possibility that our basic political or parental or
other associational obligations may also include an obligation to be
loyal, we can usually fulfill what we take those obligations to be
without any sense of loyalty to their objects. Obligations of loyalty
presuppose an associational identification that more general
institutional or membership obligations do not.



Of the various instrumental justifications of loyalty, the most
credible is probably that developed by A.O. Hirschman (1970; 1974).
Hirschman assumes, along with many other institutional theorists, that
valued social relationships and institutions have an endemic tendency
to decline. He claims, however, that social life would be seriously
impoverished were we self-advantageously to transfer or relinquish our
associational affiliations whenever a particular social institution
failed to deliver the goods associated with our connection to it, or
whenever a more successful provider of that good came along. On this
account, loyalty can be seen as a mechanism whereby we (at least
temporarily) persist in our association with the institution (or
affiliation) while efforts are made (through giving voice) to bring it
back on track. Loyalty commits us to securing or restoring the
productivity of socially valued institutions or affiliations. To the
extent, then, that an institution or affiliation provides highly
desired or needed goods for people, they have reason to be loyal to it
and, ceteris paribus, their loyalty should be given to the point at
which it becomes clear that the institution is no longer capable of
being recuperated or that one's loyal efforts will be in
vain.



But as valuable as loyalty may be for associational recuperation, it
is not clear that we can link its justification only to its
recuperative potential. For even within a generally consequentialist
framework loyalty may play a more positive role. The loyal alumnus who
donates $100 million to an already healthy endowment fund is
contributing to institutional advancement rather than stemming
institutional decline. In such a case the loyalty expresses a desire
to further institutional interests rather than restore or even
preserve them. The donation is seen as an expression of loyalty
because it expresses a commitment to the institution in the face of
the alternatives available to the donor. An outside philanthropist
might, however, choose to donate the same amount, albeit not out of
loyalty to the institution.



More critically, if loyalty is viewed simply in terms of the goods
that the associative object is able to secure or produce, the
intrinsic value that the association has come to have for the loyal
person is overlooked, along with the sense of identification that it
expresses. It is out of that sense of identification that loyalty
arises.



An alternative account is that loyalty is owed to various associations
as a debt of gratitude. Although gratitude as a ground of obligation
also stands in need of justification (McConnell, 1983), it tends to be
more widely acceptable as a justifying reason than loyalty. The fact
that we are the nonvoluntary beneficiaries of some of the associative
relations to which we are said to owe some of our primary
loyalties--say, familial, ethnic, or political--has provided
some writers with a reason to think that gratitude grounds such
loyalties (cf. Walker, 1988; Jecker, 1989).



But obligations of gratitude are not ipso facto obligations of
loyalty: the brutalized Jew who was rescued by the Good Samaritan may
have had a debt of gratitude but he had no debt of loyalty (Luke
10:25-37). Loyalty, moreover, may be owed where there is no
reason for gratitude: as may be the case between friends. Obligations
of gratitude are recompensive, whereas obligations of loyalty sustain
associations.



There may be a deeper reason for thinking that--in some
associative relations--loyalty ought to be fostered and shown. It
resides in the conception of ourselves as social beings. We do not
develop into the persons we are and aspire to be in the same fashion
as a tree develops from a seedling into its mature form. Our genetic
substratum is not as determinative of our final form as a
tree's. Nor do we (generally) flourish as the persons we become
and aspire to remain in the manner of a tree. We are social creatures
who are what we are because of our embeddedness in and ongoing
involvement with relations and groups and communities of various
kinds. Though these evolve over time, such social affiliations (or at
least some of them) become part of who we are; and, moreover, our
association with such individuals, groups, and communities (though
often instrumentally valued) becomes part of what we conceive a good
life to be for us. Our loyal obligation to them arises out of the
value that our association with them has for us.



A broad justification such as this leaves unstated what associations
might be constitutive of human flourishing. Perhaps there is no
definitive list. But most would include friendships, familial
relationships, and some of the social institutions that foster,
sustain, and secure the social life in which we engage as part of our
flourishing. To the extent that we accept that engagement with or in a
particular form of association or relation is constitutive of our
flourishing, to that extent we will consider loyalty to it to be
justified--even required.



The arguments that justify loyalty do not ipso facto justify unlimited
sacrifice in the name of loyalty, though they do not rule out the
possibility that, for example, a person might legitimately be willing,
as an expression of loyalty, to lay down his life for another. That is
often the case in wartime and may also be true of some friendships.
The strength of the claims of loyalty will depend on the importance of
the association to the person who has the association and, of course,
on the legitimacy of the association in question. Not only may some
associative relations be illegitimate, but the expectations of one
association may come into conflict with those of another: we may have
conflicts of loyalty. If the conflict is resolved by giving one
loyalty precedence over another, it does not necessarily follow that
loyalty to the one is disloyalty to the other. It is no disloyalty to
a friend who is counting on me if instead I attend to my dying
mother's needs. Sometimes such priorities will be
straightforward, at other times not. Prioritization may, nevertheless,
call for an apology and compensation in respect of the disappointed
party. Even if we decide unwisely, our decision will not ipso facto
count as disloyalty. Disloyalty is more often associated with the
self-serving or hypocritical abandonment of loyalty.


## 6. Limiting loyalty



It has already been noted that it is not part of loyalty to be
complaisant or servile, though loyalty may be corrupted into such. In
any plausible account of loyalty as a virtue there must be openness to
corrective criticism on the part of both the subject and object of
loyalty. The "corrective" qualification is important. Not
any opposition is permissible. A loyal opponent is not just an
opponent, but one who remains loyal. What that entails is that the
opposition stays within bounds that are compatible with the well-being
or best interests or flourishing of the object of loyalty. Generally
speaking, a loyal opposition will not advocate (the equivalent of)
rebellion or revolution for the latter would jeopardize the object of
loyalty (and perhaps lead to its replacement by an alternative object
of loyalty).



It is the commitment to opposition within (what are judged to be) the
prevailing structures that has led some radical critics of loyalty
(e.g., Agassi, 1974; Greene, 1973) to see it as--at
bottom--a conservative virtue. It *is* conservative,
though in a positive sense of that word: it involves a commitment to
securing or preserving the interests of an associational object, an
object that is, or has come to be, valued for its own sake (whatever
else it may be valued for). Nevertheless, the existence of a loyal
opposition need not preclude the possibility that a more radical
opposition might and indeed should subsequently be mounted. If the
loyal opposition proves incapable of "reforming" the
object of loyalty, the exit option (or something stronger) might be
taken. In such cases it could be argued that the object of loyalty was
no longer worthy of loyalty or had forfeited its claim to it. It is
only if we mistakenly or misguidedly think of loyalty as making an
unconditional claim on us that a derogatory charge of conservatism
against a loyal opposition will have traction (see Kleinig, 2019).



For heuristic purposes, we can probably distinguish loyalty to a
*type* of association (such as a state) or a *particular
instantiation* of the type (such as the United States). Strictly,
loyalty will be only to the latter, though it assists in understanding
the limits of loyalty if we make the distinction. If the type of
institution is thought to be critical to human flourishing, then
loyalty to it will be expected. But if the institution is of
relatively minor significance, the development of instantiations of
it, along with loyalty to them, will be relatively unimportant (though
not necessarily to those who develop such loyalties). Whether, for
example, patriotism (that is, patriotic loyalty) is justified will
depend in part on the importance to be accorded to a state or country.
If we are social contractarians, then the state (broadly conceived)
offers a significant solution to some of the problems of human
association as well as an arena for social identification. We might
think that both the state in general and loyalty to it are important.
The state in general, however, needs to be embodied in a particular
state, and *that* state may be such that the loyalty it should
garner is forfeited by how it acts.



Loyalty to a particular object is forfeited--that is, its claims
for the protection and reinforcement of associative identity and
commitment run out--when the object shows itself to be no longer
worthy or capable of being a source of associational satisfaction or
identity-giving significance. That is, the claims run out for the
once-loyal associate. (Others, of course, may dispute this.) But
whether or not loyalty is thought to be justifiably forfeited, the
breakpoint may differ for different people. Consider the case of
infidelity. For one woman, a husband's infidelity challenges the
future of the relationship but does not automatically destroy it. The
relationship will be considered reparable. The issues of trust that
are involved may be addressed and the relationship repaired. But for
another, such infidelity may collapse the structure in which the
relationship has been housed.



Is there a right and a wrong in such cases? Does the first woman lack
an appreciation of the "sanctity" of marriage/intimacy?
Does the second fail to appreciate our shared frailty and the
possibilities for redemption and renewal? We should probably not
acquiesce in the relativistic view that what is right for one is wrong
for the other. At the same time, however, there may be no easy answer.
The two positions constitute the beginnings of a consideration of the
nature of intimacy, what it reasonably demands of us, and how we
should respond to transgressions of its expectations.



The same may be true of other loyalties. Our approach may be assisted
by utilizing the earlier heuristic distinction between the general
form of an association and its particular instantiation. We may be
able to reach some general consensus on what a state might reasonably
expect of us. However, in any actual association with a particular
state the content of the bond may be individualized.


### 6.1 Whistle blowing



The issue of loyalty's limits is usefully illustrated by the
phenomenon of what is sometimes distinguished as external
"whistle blowing." Although there is some debate about its
scope, whistle blowing can be helpfully (if not fully) characterized
as the activity of an employee within an organization--public or
private--who alerts a wider group to setbacks to their interests
as a result of waste, corruption, fraud, or profit-seeking (Westin,
1981; Bowman, 1990; Miethe, 1999). Because such employees are
generally considered disloyal, it has been common to characterize them
as traitors, snitches, weasels, squealers, or rats. "Whistle
blower" offers a more neutral way of referring to such people,
and permits an inquiry into the proper limits of employee loyalty.



The normative background to whistle blowing is a belief that employees
owe loyalty to their employing organizations. Such loyalty will
include an expectation that employees not jeopardize their
organization's interests by revealing certain kinds of
information to people outside it. If employees have grievances, they
should be dealt with within the organization ("we wash our own
laundry"). The case for whistle blowing, then, is driven by the
recognition, first of all, that internal mechanisms often fail to deal
adequately with an organization's failures, and second, that
because the interests jeopardized by those failures often include
those outside the organization, a wider group has a prima facie right
to know of the costs that it faces or that have been imposed on
it.



Blowing the whistle frequently creates significant disruption within
an organization--it may lose control of its affairs as it is
subjected to external inquiries and constraints; it may find itself
crippled by costs or other restrictions; and many within it who are
little more than innocent bystanders may suffer from the repercussions
of an externally mounted investigation. Because whistle blowing
jeopardizes the organization's interests (at least as they are
understood within the organization), whistle blowing is therefore seen
as a significant act of disloyalty. Whistle blowers themselves will
often argue that owed loyalty has been forfeited (or at least
overridden), so that no (condemnable) disloyalty has been perpetrated.
Occasionally they will argue that whistle blowing can be an act of
loyalty.



A resolution to such conflicting assessments must address the issue of
loyalty's limits and, in the case of whistle blowing, it must
take cognizance of several considerations: (i) Because of the
disruption it threatens, the whistle should be blown only as a matter
of *last resort.* (ii) For the same reason the organizational
wrongdoing should be sufficiently *serious*. (iii) The public
complaint should be *well-grounded*--the reasons that
support it should be strong enough to be publicly defensible. (iv) A
potential whistleblower should consider whether he or she has a
special *role-related obligation* to take some action. Although
any member of an organization might have some responsibility for what
is done in its name, some members will be better placed to make
appropriate assessments of seriousness and may be more responsible for
the way in which the organization conducts its activities. (v) Because
the purpose of blowing the whistle is to bring about change, the
potential for the whistle blowing to be *effective* ought to be
considered. (vi) It is sometimes argued that the act of whistle
blowing needs to be *appropriately motivated*--it must at
least be done out of concern for those whose interests are being
jeopardized. This last consideration, however, may have more to do
with the whistle blower's praiseworthiness than with the
justifiability of blowing the whistle. A morally compromised
whistleblower, however, may find his or her credibility undermined and
the expose rendered ineffective.



Even if the foregoing considerations are satisfactorily addressed,
there remains a question whether blowing the whistle is obligatory or
merely permissible. As omissions, failures to blow the whistle must
engage with debates about the moral obligatoriness of our acting to
prevent harm. Even if it is morally obligatory, though, there may be
reasons for not making whistle blowing legally mandatory. In addition,
the potential costs to a whistleblower may excuse even legally
mandated reporting of organizational wrongdoing (Glazer & Glazer,
1989; Martin, 1992). Although legal protections for whistle blowers
have been instituted in some jurisdictions, they have often proved
inadequate (Glazer & Glazer, 1989).



Anonymous whistle blowing represents a possible solution; it opens the
door, however, to disruptive whistles being blown for the wrong
reasons or after careless investigation (cf. Elliston, 1982; Coulson,
1982).



In sum, the case of whistle blowing illustrates not only the
importance of loyalty to many organizations but also the care that
needs to be exercised when it is claimed that obligations of loyalty
are justifiably overridden or forfeited.