THE principle of self-government unites all supporters of Scottish independence. This principle has two dimensions. The first is a national dimension: that Scotland should be governed by people in Scotland, and not from Westminster. The second, without which the first is meaningless, is a democratic dimension: that those who govern Scotland should be representative of, and responsible to, the people of Scotland.

The first of these principles was, to a very large extent, realised even before devolution. In most of the aspects of life that affected people day to day, Scotland was governed by Scots. The councillors and municipal officers were Scots, the judges and legal profession were Scots, the civil servants in St Andrew’s House were Scots, even the officers of the Scottish regiments were, for the most part, Scots.

Of course, the higher up the scale one went, the more these Scots were drawn from the ­heavily Anglicised upper class. They were ­Unionist, almost to a man (and they were ­mostly, if not exclusively, men). Nevertheless, they were part of a tradition of Scottish ­Unionism: the ­Union, with its British Imperial scope, provided their political identity, but within it a Scottish ­cultural identity was able to maintain itself.

Although distinct, that Scottish identity was not merely provincial. It was carried around the world as a distinct tribe-within-the-tribe of ­British Imperialism. There’s an amusing story from a South Pacific country in the mid-20th century, where the colonial authorities were searching for a new District Commissioner. The Governor, hoping to attract the best ­talent, at first insisted that they should have an ­Oxford or a Cambridge man. However, looking through the list of suitable applicants, he found only ­graduates from Edinburgh, Glasgow, ­Aberdeen and St Andrews. He concluded that what was needed was “not an Oxbridge man, but a ­Scotsman”. No doubt many today, looking at the House of Commons and weighing the ­relative merits of, say, Boris Johnson and any on the SNP benches, would come to a similar conclusion.

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Until devolution, however, the second part – the democratic part – was lacking. Scotland was, in practice, governed by Scots, but the Scots who governed Scotland reported not down the way to the people, but up the way to Whitehall. Scotland was part of something bigger: a Great Power, a British imperial state, and which stood in relation to Scotland very much as it stood in relation to other colonies. In fact, Scotland’s ­position was in some ways less favourable. By the second half of the 19th century, most “settler colonies” had their own Parliaments and were able to take increasing democratic responsibility for almost all their ­domestic affairs; Scotland, despite devolution, still lacks the fiscal autonomy that Canada had 150 years ago.

A consequence of this long-standing democratic deficit is a subordinated political and ­administrative class. It is moderately competent, acceptably conscientious and tolerably honest. Yet, having become accustomed for three centuries to running a country without independence and without a thriving national democracy to hold it to account, its collective mentality has been burdened by an internal chorus of, “No, you can’t do that!”, and “Do you have permission from the Secretary of State?”.

In consequence, Scotland is often timid when it should be bold, complacent when it should be ambitious, ponderous where it should be agile, reactive when it should be proactive, racked with self-doubt when it should be confident.

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Devolution, introducing the cleansing light of public accountability and the bracing ­discipline of democratic responsibility, has started to shake off these bad habits.

Nevertheless, in the absence of ­independence this mental transformation remains ­incomplete. Much of our officialdom and institutional ­leaders, and around half the population, are still stuck in a colonised mindset of ­subjecthood. They cling to the Union as a comfort blanket, shielding them from the terrifying ­responsibility of independence. They cannot yet imagine ­living in a Scotland based on democratic constitutional citizenship, where “we the people” are responsible, and where Scotland can stand on its own 10 million feet.

It is a Catch-22. To win independence and to make it work will require those aspects of ­collective character – initiative, courage, ­worthy ambition, agility, confidence – that the lack of independence has stunted in Scottish public life.

But it is changing. In pursuing isolation and ideological austerity, the Union has become a liability to our economy, living standards, and the future prospects of our children. We have no choice but to embrace an independence of mind. From that, self-government follows.

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