Dissenting Radical

The Common Good: A 'Christian-Left' perspective on radical theology, progressive politics, authentic culture and sustainable living.

Westminster Export Models

The Westminster Model as actually practiced at Westminster is the sort of undocumented pre-release prototype. It’s got a lot of loose ends and historical quirks that have just never been fixed, which make it messy and clunky.

If you want to see the Westminster Model in its advanced form, you have to look at the Export Variants. It would be better to read, say, the Constitution of India or even that of Ireland – which are 20th century systematisations of the key elements of the Westminster system, adapted to different national contexts.

It’s interesting that the Westminster model, in its essentials, can exist with a written constitution, judicially-enforced rights, elected second chamber, federalism, republican head of state, even proportional representation, and yet still be recognisable in its basic functioning and dynamics .

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The revolution must be constitutionalised

‘It is extremely easy to break down an existing form of government, but to build up anything substantial in its place is a matter of considerable difficulty [….] and a long period of disorder must ensue during which the best efforts of the best men will not suffice to prevent ridiculous situations from arising.’ (Maj-Gen Lionel Dunsterville)

The above quote emphasises the centrality of the constitution-building process to Scottish independence. The aim of the Scottish independence movement cannot be simply to free Scotland from the UK and ‘London rule’. It must aim, rather, to build in its place a new Scottish state – a stable, well-functioning, capable and responsive state, built upon sound democratic constitutional foundations.

The text of a Scottish constitution should be agreed in advance of the next independence referendum. There’s nothing to stop the Scottish Government establishing a Constitutional Conference to start discussions now. Ideally, when the people vote in that referendum they should be able to make their decision on the basis of specific constitutional proposal, which would then – if approved – come into effect on independence day. 

Only in this way can Scottish independence be offered on terms that provide legal continuity, institutional clarity, and a legitimate and inclusive political order. If we leave constitution-building until after independence, there’s too much risk of failure, diversion, deliberate delay, or state-capture. 

No leaps into the dark. No politicians’ promises. No replacement of an absolute Westminster with an absolute Holyrood. No sacrificing of fundamental rights,  electoral integrity, judicial independence, or impartial administration. 

The revolution must be constitutionalised. 

Let’s Go Back to Church

You drank the wine but it tastes like water.
You broke the bread but it had turned to stone.
Your sacrament it lay scattered on the pavement
The covenants you kept have all been stolen and sold.

Let's go back to church
Let's go back to church
So damn long since we sung the song
Let's go back to church

(Rev. Dr. D. Wayne Love)

I. Relational Thinking

I am currently doing an online course entitled ‘Biblical Foundations for Public Leadership‘, offered by the Jubilee Centre in Cambridge, England. It consists of guided readings, web seminars and reflective essays, with modules applying a ‘Biblical perspective’ to economics, politics, law and justice, family and sexual ethics, science and technology, and the arts.

The course draws heavily on a concept known as ‘relational thinking’, developed by Michael Schluter. The Old Testament law, Schluter argues, was in essence about ‘right relationships’, based on justice and reciprocity: relationships (between Israel and God, people and land, borrowers and lenders, buyers and sellers, masters and servants, men and women, etc). Schluter’s essay ‘Beyond Capitalism: Towards a Relational Economy‘ is well worth a read. In its criticism of usury and debt, and in its concern for good relationships rather than the maximisation of either growth or profit, Relational Thinking attacks neoliberal capitalism at its very roots. It questions the Hobbesian concept of man as a rational egoist, and goes some way to restoring the concept that we thrive not as acquisitive individuals, but as people in society, sustained by a network of supportive relationships.

Relational thinking, as a theo-ideological foundation for public policy and for Christian engagement in social action and political life, has its limits. It places rather too much emphasis on Old Testament Biblical Law, and not enough emphasis on how the teachings of Jesus and the example of the early church challenge, supplement and in some ways supersede the law. It ignores insights from the Social Teaching of the Roman Catholic Church, developed in encyclicals such as Rerum novarum and Quadragesimo anno. It overlooks the contributions of Christian Democrats, Christian Socialists, Liberation Theologians, and others, in bringing Christian ethics and principles to bear on public policy, and, in particular, in providing a Christian response to the problems of capitalism.

Yet, although it might be an insufficient or incomplete basis for Christian engagement in public affairs, ‘relational thinking’ does provide a useful lens through which to see one’s own personal decision making. My response to the idea has been, perhaps ironically, to shift my focus a little away from the social and political, and towards the personal. Am I relationally poor? Should I be investing more in relationships, not just for my own sake, but for the sake of the small scale change that such relationships might bring about?

II. Not Giving Up Meeting Together 

There is one relationship, in particular, of which I am very neglectful: a relationship with a local church. I have not been a regular member of a local church for some time – about five years, I think.

There were good reasons why I decided to separate myself from a local church in the first place. In part, I just find the 16th century way of doing things, with one person standing at the front talking and everyone else supposed to sit down and shut up, so crushing and pointless. I also got sick of all the wrangling about incidentals. I saw the church I had been a member of torn apart because the preacher and the worship leader had a disagreement about the colour of curtains – or something of similar magnitude.

What began as a sort of principled boycott of the institutional church became, once the emotions had cooled, a habit sustained by inertia; I just got used to not going to church anymore. I tried other churches, and visited from time to time, but never felt sufficiently comfortable to risk getting more involved. Neither did I feel that it was worth getting up on a Sunday morning to be part of something that I had learned to live quite well without.

I remained, however, an active and committed member of the universal church, and tried to stay plugged in to sources of spiritual sustenance in different ways. I listen to sermons on podcasts, have conversations on online Christian forums, sing worship songs into the sink while I’m doing the washing up, that sort of thing. And of course I make an effort to actually read books on theology, Christian ethics, church history and so forth. In some ways, I have found this self-service approach far more nourishing of my intellectual and spiritual development than the local church ever was.

Maybe it was not wrong to separate myself for a season; absence from the local church has done wonders for my own spiritual growth and maturity, so maybe I just needed that space for a while. But now I think the time has come to get stuck back in.

Online ways of interacting are relationally cheap, easy and shallow. They might encourage the development of one’s own mind and conscience, but they do little or nothing for the development of personal relationships. The universal church cannot consist solely of isolated individuals listening to podcasts and reading their bibles at home; it has to be incarnated, substantiated (in the literal sense of ‘given substance’) through physical gatherings of the local church. In particular, while teaching might take place online, the physical church is necessary in order to have a sacramental presence. I think that in the last five years I have taken communion no more than a dozen times – and that’s something that I definitely feel the lack of in my life.

So perhaps, despite the Nomad Podcast, online sermons, and the abundance of N T Wright lectures on the internet (all of which are Good Things, no doubt), I do still need some sort of local church connection.

This is not necessarily because it is good for me, but because it is good for the relational fabric of the church as a whole. Maybe, for example, there are small acts of relational service that I should be doing, but which I am not doing because I am not plugged in to the community which brings those things to mind and co-ordinates them.

III. Denominational Blues

Part of the problem, though, is choosing a church to go to. Local churches are inevitably affiliated to a particular denomination (except for ‘non-denominational’ churches, which as everyone knows is code for ‘conservative baptist with a silly name and a trendy website’). By joining a church, one is also aligning oneself with a denomination.

I find this very difficult to do. There is much that I admire, but also things I dislike or find difficult to accept, in every denomination I’ve encountered, from Unitarians and Quakers, through Baptists and Presbyterians, to Anglicans and Catholics. All of these make up different aspects and elements of the universal church. All bring something to the whole, but all have their failings, limitations and shortcomings. How would one possibly choose between them?

Ultimately I think the challenge for the universal church is to hold tradition, scripture, reason and experience together in a creative balance. These are represented by catholic, evangelical, liberal and charismatic impulses, all of which, I have come to realise, have something to teach the others. I’m looking for an expression of church that is catholic (with a small-c), evangelical (with a small-e), liberal (with a small-l), and charismatic (with a small-c). But it is hard to find a church – either a denomination or a local church – that incorporates all four of those elements in a healthy way.

This is aside from the fact that there are important distinctions – in stances taken on particular issues, in liberal vs conservative orientations, and in styles of worship and elements of focus – which denominational boundaries, reflecting the disputes of the 16th to 19th centuries, do not really capture. The sign on the door is no guarantee of what one will find inside. That might make the choice of denomination easier: one could argue that less is at stake, and all that matters is whether the particular local church is a good fit. But it doesn’t make the process of finding a church to join with any easier. 

On the other hand, perhaps none of this really matters – or at least it doesn’t matter as much as I once thought it did. For present purposes, perhaps it is more important for me to get connected to a local church than it is to split hairs on details of denominational affiliation. In the past I’ve been too picky about churches, with the result that I’ve often made small differences into an excuse for not connecting with the local church at all. Perhaps, from a ‘relational thinking’ perspective, it is better to find a church that’s an imperfect (but acceptable) fit, rather than not attending at all. I’m trying to make an effort to be less of a critic and more of a fellow-worker.

With this thought in mind, I decided last week to do something about it. I felt an urgent, burning need to take communion (that last time I had done so was more than a year ago, I think). So I found a church, simply on the basis that it was close to my office and did a quick lunchtime communion service, and off I went.

IV. Old Catholic Church of the Netherlands (Union of Utrecht)

That church happened to be part of the Old Catholic Church of the Netherlands (Union of Utrecht). This was unknown territory for me – a denomination I had never considered, or even heard of, before. But it felt strangely like finally coming home.

OKKN

This is what I’ve been able to find out so far, mainly from the church’s own official online sources:

  • The Union of Utrecht is a communion of independent national ‘Old Catholic’ churches. The Dutch church separated administratively from Rome in the early 18th century due to jurisdictional disputes. It was joined the late 19th century by those catholic bishops in Germany, Austria and Switzerland who disagreed with the manner and substance of the First Vatican Council.
  • Their basic theological positions are set out in the 14 Theses of the Bonn Conference, 1874 and the Declaration of Utrecht, 1889.
  • They are basically Catholic in their theology and practice. They affirm the traditional creeds, and the teachings of the first seven ecumenical councils.
  • The look and feel is unmistakably High Church: They structure their services liturgically with the Eucharist as the focal point, follow the church calendar, wear vestments, invoke the saints, and pray for the dead. Although the vernacular is used throughout – no Latin.
  • They deny papal infallibility and reject the Pope’s universal jurisdiction. The historical status of the Bishop of Rome as primus inter pares is recognised, but not any claim to be the ‘supreme pontiff’ or universal ‘Vicar of Christ’.
  • They take the view that it is possible to be Catholic without necessarily being Roman: that the Catholic tradition is bigger than Rome and the Papacy, and can exist independently of them. They particularly look to the undivided church of the first millennium for inspiration, but also allow individual national churches to adapt to the times as they see fit.
  • They are led by episcopate with apostolic succession, but are synodically governed, with decision-making in collegial bodies of bishops, clergy and laity. Bishops are freely elected by the clergy and laity of each diocese.
  • They acknowledge seven sacraments, but affirm the primacy of baptism and the eucharist as the two sacraments instituted by Christ.
  • They use the apocrypha, but recognise it as less clearly authoritative than the other books of the Old Testament.
  • They maintain a Marian devotion, but reject the Roman dogmas of the immaculate conception and the assumption.
  • They recognise that the ‘authentic tradition’ of Christ and the Apostles is ‘an authoritative source of teaching’, but also assert the primacy of the scriptures as ‘the primary rule of faith and practice’.
  • They have no rule of clerical celibacy and allow clergy to marry.
  • They ordain women equally alongside men to the diaconate, priesthood and episcopate.
  • They affirm the Real Presence, but do not insist on transubstantiation as the only dogmatic interpretation of it.
  • They are not opposed to contraception – although they take a traditional line on abortion. Their position on homosexuality is inclusive without making a big deal out of it.
  • In some ways, the Old Catholics embody a continental European form of the via media of high-church Anglicanism – but without the baggage that comes with being a ‘state church’. Indeed, they are in full communion with the Anglican communion and have been since 1931.

 

 

That’s a very attractive combination. It reminds me in some ways of the Scottish Episcopal Church. Of course, there are still some things that I’d struggle with. One big stumbling block is that I hold to believer’s baptism, whereas they practice infant baptism. I was baptised as an adult in a baptist church, and I think that is the scriptural and logical position. Another is that I am a convinced believer in Universal Salvation – that ultimately God will redeem all of creation. I have no idea what their take on this is, but I suspect (since they come from a Catholic tradition, even if they have broken away from Rome) they subscribe to something purgatorial. Also, liturgical eucharistic worship only gets me so far before I want to sing with my hands in the air and have a bit of Holy Spirit ministry time.

But maybe none of that matters right now. I think I have at least – and at last – found a place that I can make a connection to – maybe not actualy join, but perhaps become more than just an occasional visitor. If so, that will be a big step forward in my spiritual life in 2018.

Democracy in the early 21st century

My concerns are the following:

(i) That the moral, ethical, cultural foundations of democracy in the West are being eroded by ‘post-truth’ politics and by culture divided between relativist individualism  and silly gatekeeping, purity-testing, SJW identity politics – both of which have little regard for real civic virtue or for a sense of public duty, without which free institutions cannot be maintained.

(ii) That the economic foundations of democracy (based on a broad middle class and general prosperity) have been undermined by neoliberal doctrines, increasing poverty and inequality.

(iii) That the legal-institutional and constitutional foundations of democracy are being ignored and undervalued, while precious and hard-won civil liberties are curtailed.

(iv) That democracy in its current form is failing to respond to the existential challenge of climate change and other long-term slow-burn environmental and technological challenges.

I therefore foresee four main areas of work for any democracy support programme:

(i) Democratic values, public ethos and strong citizenship;

(ii) Shared prosperity, economic democracy and effective public services;

(iii) Constitutional government, checks & balances, and human rights; and

(iv) Democratic sustainability, environmental stewardship and resilience.

A Halloween Tale

In so far as neoliberalism was the economic elite’s ideological reaction against social democracy, it has achieved its aims in full. After two generations of neoliberalism, we have recreated the absolute poverty, the gross inequality, the social immobility and the plutocratic domination of politics and society which existed a century ago.

I’ve just read a harrowing story about a five year old child in the UK who had not eaten for three days and was picking through bins for food, because his mother had had her Universal Credit payments delayed. That is the reality of the abyss we have reached. And it is never morally acceptable.

Such poverty is neither accidental nor inevitable. It is a product of ideological, political choices. More than that, it is a product of a deep ethical malaise in those who govern us – those who nurse their offshore accounts and their corporate donors, while caring so little for the poor and for the common good.

We must start our first works over: create a country for all its people, in which everyone has a stake, where everyone is protected and can live in moderate comfort and dignity.

To achieve that, we have to break out of labels and tribes. In much of continental Europe the welfare state was not built by one party, but by pragmatic agreements between Social Democrats and Christian Democrats in coalition. These people came from very different political ‘tribes’ and different ideological traditions, with different ultimate goals. Some were motivated primarily by Christian compassion, other by a fear that if nothing was done revolution would break out, others by hopes of advancing towards a utopia of scientific socialism – but they were able to work together to address pressing issues of poverty and inequality.

I’m not, never have been, and probably never would be, a member of the Labour Party.  Labour is not my tribe. There is a lot about the Labour Party and its culture that just doesn’t sit well with me – its constitutional blindness, its unwillingness to understand Scotland’s unique position in the territorial politics of the UK, its indifference to civil liberties and parliamentary reform, and its willingess to embrace neo-imperalist wars as an instrument of foreign policy.  But I would be very willing to work with Labour in a great crusade against the evils that William Beveridge (an old Liberal, by the way) identified in his 1942 report that laid the foundations for the Welfare State: want, disease, ignorance, squalor and idleness.

To rid the land of these evils again, we need to develop a platform of workable policies that could be agreed in principle across party lines, with commitment and support by Labour, the SNP, Plaid Cymru, the Liberal Democrats and the Greens. Likewise, I am no friend of the Tories, but I still hope that there are some moderate, good-hearted Tories out there who feel the same revulsion that I do, and who are willing to accept that things have gone too far; and, if such moderate Tories exist, I’d be willing to work with them, too, and perhaps to secure their support for some of these policies.

In taking on this challenge, our aim should not be to achieve an ideological unanimity of position, but to develop five or six key policies that are acceptable, viable and workable. These would be embodied in five or six pieces of landmark legislation, the like of which has not been seen since the 1940s. Perhaps it could start with a new National Insurance Act.

A final point is that this is not merely a policy issue. It is at root a constitutional one, which goes to the core of the relationship between citizens and the state and the nature of our social contract. Although we have slain these evils once, they have come back. The Labour Government of 1945 introduced a new policy dispensation, but never sought to entrench this dispensation in a new constitutional order in which a strong sense of citizenship would underpin socio-economic rights. Legislative policy alone may kill these vampires, which suck the blood of the poor, but only a new constitutional order which enthrones the common good can drive a stake through them and prevent them rising like the undead to haunt the land again.

Much belated book reviews

Facebook has just reminded of the fact that 5 years ago today I posted about a bunch of books that I had ordered. So let’s have a look at what I bought, whether I actually read them, and what impact they had on my thought and action.

“What Money Can’t Buy: The Moral Limits of Markets” (Michael Sandel). Read it cover to cover. Thought it made a very good argument. Helped me to distinguish between a ‘market economy’ (qualified good) and a ‘marketsociety’ (bad). Raises the question of which areas of life should, and which shouldn’t, be open to market forces, and which areas should be reserved for other means of distribution (state provision, familial communality, social co-operatives etc).

“Prosperity without Growth: Economics for a Finite Planet” (Tim Jackson). Read most of it. Bottom line is that we cannot expect unending growth on a finite planet. There comes a point where economic theories that focus on making a ‘bigger pie’ fall apart, and we have to think about how the pie is cut.

“The End of Kings: A History of Republics and Republicanism” (William Everdell). Read it cover to cover, several times, and still dip into it occasionally. It became for a while one of my favourite books. Strongly recommended as an introduction to how civic republican thought maps onto questions of institutional design.

“Dialogue on the Government of Florence” (Francesco Guicciardini, translated by Biancamaria Fontana). Read it cover to cover, many times. There’s something so immediate, and yet also strangely distant and other-worldly, about these Italian civic-republican dialogues. We live in a very different world, with very different institutions and assumptions, yet the problems are the same – and we are less well equipped to deal with them, than Florentines were 500 years ago.

“Distributism” (Anthony Cooney). I have not really done this book justice. I think it has sat on my shelf for 5 years, never really appreciated. So I’m going to dust it off and add it to my ‘bedside’ pile.

New Atheism and the Alt-Right

I have, for many years, been a regular listener to the ‘Non-Prophets Radio’ – an atheist podcast – as well as to podcasts like ‘A Christian and an Atheist’ and ‘Unbelievable?’ I do this because I don’t want to be locked in a Christian mental bubble. I believe that a faith worth having is a faith worth questioning and examining. Sometimes it has caused me to doubt and waver, but always to come back with a deeper and more mature understanding.

But I’ve noticed something very strange in what I might loosely call ‘online new atheist subculture’. A decade ago, this subculture leaned centre-left. It was responding to the G. W. Bush era, when a heavy cloak of evangelical religiosity pervaded the US Government’s foreign policy.

Of course, that was before the financial crisis really it, and before the momentous political changes which have shaken Western democracies on both sides of the Atlantic.  Now it seems there’s a trend in ‘New Atheist’ communities to shift away from the centre-left and to embrace the alt-right. It seems there are three lines of argument to which atheists are particularly attracted and which lead them into an alt-right space.

One line of argument goes something like this: (a) religion is evil and the cause of all violence, ignorance, oppression, and out-dated values; (b) the worst religion is Islam, which poses a particular threat to Enlightenment civilisation; (c) ‘the left’, broadly defined, is soft on Islam, whereas the alt-right treats Islam as the threat it is; (d) therefore, although the far right might be a bit distasteful in some respects, they are the best option – they are keeping us free from burkas and terrorists.

The second line of argument goes something like this: (a) religion is for stupid people, and because I’m an atheist I’m obviously very smart; (b) smart people are the ones who produce everything and generate all the wealth and they should get to keep it; (c) because I am very smart, I should be rich; if I’m not, its because leeches and unproductive drones are stealing it from me; (d) the alt-right want to cut taxes, deregulate markets, and let all the stupid people fail like they should, so that I can succeed and be rich!

The third line argument is as follows: (a) atheism is about cold hard truth, regardless of what is comfortable or socially conventional – there is no God, it’s all just material forces; (b) there are other cold hard truths that society is forgetting, but which a neo-Darwinian worldview makes abundantly clear; (c) for a start, life is all about sex and death, and competition for opportunities to mate, and all the gender politics nonsense just obscures the fact that women are basically for breeding; (d) also, there are biological racial differences – get over it; (e) it is not politically correct to say these things, but they are true, and the alt-right are therefore champions of free speech and defenders of liberty.

So what does all this amount to? Essentially, that the alt-right appeals to freedom (a word, incidentally, which crops up in the names of many European alt-right and far-right parties). It might be a debased, angry, individualised and immature version of freedom, but it is a version of freedom. If we put the three lines of argument outlined above together, the alt-right can present itself as guaranteeing the freedom to live in an open, secular society, against militant Islam, the freedom to make money and get rich, against social democratic policies, and the freedom to speak the truth as they see it against a culture in which some things (like sexism and racism) are no longer socially acceptable.

We cannot begin to understand or to confront the alt-right unless we see it for what it is: not a species of fascism (which was, after all, a collectivist and teleological ideology), but as a species of neo-liberalism – an individualist, nihilistic and amoral ideology. The alt-right is ‘New Atheism’ in action.

Secure Foundations: Laying the constitutional groundwork of a Scottish State.

The First Minister has indicated that she wishes to re-boot the independence movement – to shift the debate away from tactics, such as the timing of the next referendum, and back onto the high ground of making the case for independence. In making that case, it is important to begin with a clear understanding of what independence is, what independence is for, and why it matters.

Independence is nothing less than the creation of a Scottish state – a state which, recognised as sovereign in international law, will take its equal place in Europe, the Commonwealth and the world. The Scottish independence movement is therefore, necessarily, a state-building movement. Its purpose is to enable the people of Scotland to exercise democratic control over the government of Scotland, in order to pursue policies that meet our needs and aspirations. It matters because policies imposed by the UK in a range of areas – from austerity and punitive sanctions against the poorest to the war in Iraq and hard Brexit – have not generally met our needs and aspirations.

It is no coincidence that the ‘arc of prosperity’ and ‘arc of democracy’ so closely align. The countries routinely topping international Human Development indices are also those with the best rankings for quality of democracy. The distribution of the tax burden and the quality of public services are reflections, above all, of democratic performance. Likewise, the question of whether laws and policies are tailored to favour the privileged few or the common good depends on whether the government is effectively held accountable to the people, or whether it is in the pockets of rich donors and corporate and financial interests. That is why arguing about GERS figures is irrelevant. Independence is a question of democracy, not accountancy.

The whole case for independence rests on one key assumption: that the workaday lives of the people of Scotland will be improved by the creation of a democratic Scottish State – a State that represents the interests and meets the demands of the people. The problem with the UK is not that it is ‘British’ rather than ‘Scottish’, but that its ossified, hierarchical and profoundly oligarchic structures cannot be reformed in a way that would make them responsive to Scotland’s interests and demands.

Unfortunately, independence itself is no guarantee that things will turn out well. Many countries have become independent only to fall into authoritarianism, corruption and misrule. Often, they put all their efforts into independence and had little thought for how they would govern themselves democratically afterwards. In the words of a senior Kenyan politician: ‘In 1963, we wanted independence. We did not think about building institutions of good governance. We just thought independence was the main thing, and we’d worry about all that constitutional business later. So we became independent, and the KANU party took office, closed down the democratic space and centralised power until we had become a one-party dictatorship.’

Of course Scotland is not Kenya. We are starting from a much more favourable position in terms of both democratic experience and overall development. Yet the point stands. The countries that have prospered and developed after independence are precisely those in which politics has rested upon stable and broadly agreed constitutional foundations. It is not enough to free ourselves from Westminster. To reap the benefits and mitigate the risks of independence, we have to build consensus, in advance, around robust institutions of democracy.

The constitution is therefore central to the case for independence. A constitution (as the word is understood in almost every democracy except the UK) is a fundamental law that defines the state, establishes and regulates its institutions, protects the rights of citizens, and in general provides an overarching legal framework for the conduct of politics. Crucially, a constitution has a special procedure for amendment – typically a two-thirds majority or other supermajority in Parliament, often coupled with a referendum. This means that the government cannot unilaterally change the ground rules of politics. Our rights and democratic institutions are protected from hasty or partisan change.

The principle that there should be a written Constitution has been longstanding SNP policy. Much good work has been done on this front. Neil MacCormick authored a text formally adopted by the SNP, most recently in 2002, which although perhaps not perfect, represented the essence of a viable and acceptable Constitution for Scotland. However, the draft interim constitution proposed in 2014 was a disappointing effort. While it contained some promising principles, such as a commitment to both popular sovereignty and the European Convention on Human Rights, it contained little of the basic institutional detail require of a constitution, and would have been deficient even as an interim measure.

In part, this is because the Scottish Government misunderstood the nature of a constitution and misjudged its centrality to the independence case. They saw it as a way of constitutionalising certain policy proposals, and not as a basic charter that would provide the institutional frameworks and safeguards for democratic government. The 2014 draft included a commitment to the removal of nuclear weapons, but said nothing about the building blocks of democracy, like how Parliament was to be elected, the First Minister chosen, or the independence of the judiciary and civil service protected. Yet it is on such dry, dull, mechanical details that the success of a Scottish Constitution – and in consequence the success of Scottish independence – rests. Only by developing a Constitution that safeguards democracy and human rights can the independence movement provide reassurance to waverers.

That need for reassurance demands that a provisional constitution be developed before the next referendum. The homework should be done in advance of the vote, as it was by the Constitutional Convention before the 1997 referendum. The constitution has to be a national, and not a partisan, document, and perhaps the best way of proceeding would be to appoint a Commission, with a broad membership and wide consultative remit, to develop a text. That text, which will reflect a certain consensus about specific institutions  – and not the abstract idea of independence – should be the subject of the next referendum.

This approach (which was adopted, for example, in Malta in 1964) has several advantages. On the one hand, it provides small-c conservatives with the certainty and reassurance that an independent Scotland will not be the next Cuba or Zimbabwe. On the other hand, protecting human rights and democratic processes may attract small-l liberals disenchanted by the UK’s authoritarian drift.

Developing a minimal but robust and sufficient constitution need not be difficult. It is a well-worn path. Although the UK has no written constitution, it has been the midwife of many. Dozens of the world’s constitutions were drafted with the assistance of British officials at Lancaster House. As a provisional measure, a constitution conforming to that tried and tested ‘Lancaster House’ model, but reflecting the existing provisions of the Scotland Act such as proportional representation, fixed term parliaments, and the election of the First Minister by Parliament, would be a great step forwards.

That provisional constitution would come into effect immediately on independence day and would see Scotland safely through the first years of independence. There would then be scope, during the first session of an independent Parliament for a more participatory constitution-building process which, if the people so desire, and if there is a sufficiently broad consensus, might lead to a more progressive and transformative constitution. Alternatively, we might find that a good provisional constitution is sufficient, that it becomes hallowed by practice, and that – like the French Constitution of 1875 and the German Constitution of 1949 – it loses its provisional character over time. Either way, a sound constitution foundation is necessary for the construction of a new Scottish state.

Slowly, slowly, catchy indy.

I don’t see any ultimate constitutional solution for Scotland short of full independence, but there are plenty of penultimate solutions to be explored.

These half-way solutions might at least move things forward a bit, and do so in ways that build consensus and avoid unnecessary divisions. A good next step might be to gain for Scotland the same sort of constitutional status that Gibraltar and the Cayman Islands enjoy today, or that the Eastern Caribbean enjoyed before independence under the Associated Statehood Act 1967.  That might satisfy the vast majority for now, ‘devo maxer’, ‘federalist’, ‘home ruler’ and ‘nationalist’ alike – even if some of us would like to go further later.

How to become independent the easy way

There are various ways in which a state can become independent. In the case of becoming independent from the UK, the most normal means was as follows:

1. In response to local demand, a devolved legislature is set up.

2. Pro-independence parties win a majority in the legislature.

3. UK government convenes a Constitutional Conference to work out the details of independence: timing and process, but also substance of the post-independence Constitution. The negotiations take place between various political parties in the territory, as well as with the UK Government. This results in a report that set out things like who will be a citizen of the new state, how its institutions will be set up, etc – including things like protecting the pensions of civil servants.

4. The proposals of the Constitutional Conference may be put to the people in a referendum. This means that they are not voting on the concept of independence, but on an agreed constitutional transition to independence. Note: If there is no a referendum, the legislature of the territory might approve the independence Constitution instead. Sometimes there was an additional election, before or after the Constitutional Conference, in place of a referendum.

5. The UK Parliament passes an Independence Act, which divests Westminster of sovereignty and grants to the territory a new Constitution (as agreed at the Constitutional Conference).

6. The new Constitution comes into effect by UK Order-in-Council on ‘the appointed day’. At that point, the band plays, the soldiers march past, some royal flunkey takes the salute, the Union Flag goes down, the new national flag goes up, and they have a big party in the streets.

7. Alongside this, there might be some continuing arrangement for defence co-operation, financial co-operation etc. That’s the grown up way to deal with things – to recognise that while independence cannot be prevented, there are enduring shared interests that can provide a basis for a good post-independence relationship.

That’s the normal process by which the UK gave independence to most former colonies. There were some variations. In a few cases, it didn’t work that way and it was either very messy (Ireland) or did not end well (Rhodesia). Of course, this doesn’t deal with the full politics of the situation – how to win the case for independence – but it does show that with mutual respect and goodwill, the mechanics of the process are not eligible.