There is something almost sadistic in the way Boris Johnson sends ministers to be tormented on television in defence of the indefensible. There is nothing new in politicians squirming through interviews, and prime ministers have always performed U-turns, humiliating MPs who had reluctantly stood by the abandoned policy. But with Johnson the practice is so common it looks like a system. He tests the limits of shamelessness, using the dignity of his cabinet as a probe. The past week has seen a parade of secretaries of state making excuses for Downing Street, allowances for sleaze and fools of themselves all at the same time. Some actually believe the wretched drivel, others abase themselves in hope of future favour. But Johnson expects loyalty the way a capricious emperor demands tribute. It must be rendered without conditions or camaraderie. If it suits the prime minister to cut his most loyal servants loose, he will do it in a flash. The case of Robert Buckland, shuffled out of the cabinet in September, is instructive. Buckland’s appointment as justice secretary followed his endorsement of Johnson’s leadership bid in 2019, which surprised many colleagues. He had been a staunch remainer and a standard-bearer for pro-European Conservatism before Brexit was even a word. But he was persuaded that Johnson’s cosiness with the Eurosceptic ultras was a tactical feint, and that the liberal, moderate “Boris” of London mayoralty vintage was the real one. Buckland nodded along as Johnson illegally prorogued parliament and again when he threatened to break international law to override the Brexit withdrawal agreement. He did not dissent when the government cast aside its statutory obligations on international aid spending, nor when it was found to have acted unlawfully by failing to publish public procurement contracts during the pandemic. It was Buckland’s job to go on television and explain, with a lawyer’s credentials and a queasy smile, that it really wasn’t such a big deal if the government had broken the law. When Matt Hancock ignored social distancing rules for an extramarital affair and questions were asked about the prime minister’s judgment in refusing to sack the health secretary promptly, trusty lieutenant Buckland was on hand with a defence. “The public are not interested in this issue because it has no bearing on the public interests,” he said. The furore had been whipped up by embittered enemies who resented Johnson’s uncanny ability to keep “his finger on the pulse of the nation”. It was a telling comment because it used popularity as a measure of ethics. It made explicit a recalibration of Conservative values to define as virtue whatever Johnson might get away with. Servility did not spare Buckland the sack. Does anyone in the court of King Boris think they would be treated better? If so, they should scroll further back through Johnson’s record of personal and professional relationships and count how many ended in betrayal. When Theresa May resigned, plenty of Tory MPs thought Johnson’s indiscipline and absent moral compass made him unfit to be prime minister. They weighed that qualm against his mesmeric campaigning prowess and the absence of any better ideas. The gamble paid off. But it offends Conservative self-esteem to admit that the party took a mercenary punt on a charismatic scoundrel. So a respectable plan has been retro-fitted on to the leadership. Johnsonism is elaborated as a new chapter in the Conservative creed: an embrace of an activist state for the purposes of “levelling up” and the end of free-market fundamentalism. Downing Street is credited with mapping a new electoral centre-ground, capturing Labour terrain on public investment while holding a Conservative line in culture wars, effecting a once-per-generation realignment – the tumbling of the “red wall”. Johnson did not discover that strategy. He inherited it from May, who had failed to pull it off in 2017. (She made vital inroads in constituencies that then fell in 2019, but gets no credit because of all the seats she lost elsewhere.) A question that now hangs over Tory MPs is how much of their parliamentary supremacy is a function of the leader’s personality and, by extension, what would be left if his personal brand got broken. The 2019 intake of Tories was notably less biddable last week when Downing Street wanted to nobble the system for policing parliamentary standards. That might indicate closer tuning to the mood in newly acquired seats. There is a scratchiness to the mesh of rich Tories, sleazy favours and bending the rules that could penetrate Johnson’s Teflon coating. The safe bet has thus far been that nothing sticks to him for long, and there is not sufficient evidence yet of his luck running out. But there is also no reason to expect Johnson’s partnership with his party to follow a different course to all of his other relationships. The precedent is estrangement caused by his selfishness, cowardice and duplicity. So far the “Boris” product line and the Conservative party have operated as a successful joint venture. But it would be a mistake to think of them as a single enterprise. Over time, as MPs and ministers are expected to do more for the leader and get less in return, they will notice something parasitical in the arrangement; how thin and brittle Tory identity has become in the leader’s shadow. When the day comes that Johnson’s finger slips from the pulse of the nation, it will be interesting to see what remains of the party that gambles everything on the magic of his touch. Rafael Behr is a Guardian columnist