Image kindly provided by https://unsplash.com/@keebarber
Whilst on holiday in the Scottish Highlands, I often get talking to other Europeans. As we admire the sweeping glens and lochs around us, the subject of cultural differences emerge—a topic as wide and deep as the scenery before us. What are the main differences between us Brits and our Dutch cousins is an interesting one and worth bringing to the table.
One characteristic stands out is the British approach to keeping promises. We’re light-hearted about it, often treating promises as tentative rather than binding. “I’ll call you sometime.” “Let’s plan a trip next year.” “Can I borrow some money? I’ll give it back next week.” “There’s no one else.” These words, often spoken casually, linger in the air like faint vapours, easily dissipating without consequence.
The Dutch, however, take a quite different view. Make a promise to a Dutchman, and you are expected to keep it. No, honestly—really expected to keep it. There’s no wriggle room, no casual opt-out clause. I believe we call this virtue loyalty: commitment, faithfulness, the keeping of obligations. It’s a quality I deeply admire, and I suspect I’m not alone. We are drawn to loyal people, aren’t we? There’s something noble about unwavering commitment in a world that often seems fickle and self-serving.
This conversation recalls a familiar figure from my own country: the statue of Greyfriars Bobby that stands in Edinburgh’s Old Town. Bobby, the loyal Skye Terrier, famously spent 14 years guarding the grave of his master, John Grey, after the man’s death in the late 19th century. Bobby’s faithfulness captured the hearts of a nation, inspiring stories, books, and even a Disney movie. The statue remains a poignant symbol of loyalty, a tribute to the enduring bond between the dog and his master.
But here’s where it gets tricky. Why are we so moved by the virtue of loyalty? If we’re nothing more than biological machines, dancing to the dictates of our DNA in an aimless universe, then loyalty should be little more than a chemical impulse, a behaviour arising from evolutionary necessity. And yet, it stirs something deep within us—something profound, almost sacred.
The Bible’s wisdom speaks directly to this. Proverbs 20:6
reads:
“Many a person proclaims his own loyalty, but who can find a trustworthy
person?”
Here lies a tension we all recognize. Most people like to think of themselves as loyal and trustworthy—there’s a bias psychologists call illusory superiority. We overestimate our own virtues while often falling short of embodying them. The proverb cuts through this self-assured facade, asking the piercing question: Who can find a trustworthy person?
This rhetorical question points to a deeper truth. Loyalty is rare, perhaps because it requires sacrifice, humility, and a prioritization of others above us. It’s not a virtue we stumble upon by chance; it’s forged through intentionality and assessed in moments of trial. Greyfriars Bobby didn’t sit by that grave for 14 years out of convenience or whim. His loyalty was an act of devotion, something that resonates with us because it points to a greater reality—a reflection of God’s own faithfulness.
In a culture that often prizes personal freedom and flexibility over commitment, loyalty can feel countercultural, even radical. Yet it is precisely this steadfastness that we admire in others and aspire to cultivate in ourselves. The Dutch have a saying: afspraak is afspraak— “a deal is a deal.” It’s a reminder that promises matter, that words carry weight. We Brits could stand to learn a thing or two from our Dutch cousins.
And maybe, just maybe, loyalty matters so much because it hints at a truth beyond us. In a world that sometimes feels aimless, loyalty reminds us that we are part of something greater—that our actions, promises, and commitments echo with meaning far beyond what lays on the surface.
