The thing that interests me most about Scotland is how we differ

Rory Stewart, a man of politics and letters, once spoke words that echo with the searching spirit of nations: “The thing that interests me most about Scotland is how we differ from our neighbours. How do our ambitions differ? What kind of society are we? What can we learn from the mistakes of the past, and how do we position ourselves in the world?” These words are not idle musings; they are the questions of a people standing before the mirror of history, asking not only who they are, but who they wish to become.

The meaning of the quote lies in its restless inquiry. Stewart does not offer easy answers, but calls forth the courage of self-examination. To ask how one differs from one’s neighbours is not to sow rivalry, but to seek identity. Every people must define itself not merely by geography or inheritance, but by the shape of its ambitions, the values it enshrines, and the lessons it dares to learn from past triumphs and failures. Scotland, like every nation, must ask: are we content to drift in the current of history, or shall we chart our own course?

History offers many such crossroads. Consider the Act of Union of 1707, when Scotland joined with England to form Great Britain. For some, this union was necessity, a means to survive hardship and gain access to wider trade. For others, it was betrayal, a surrender of independence. From that moment, Scotland has lived with the dual question of difference and belonging—what makes her distinct, yet how does she thrive in the embrace of a greater whole? This tension, present for centuries, pulses through Stewart’s words, as he asks what kind of society Scotland wishes to be in the modern age.

We may also recall the struggles of the 20th century, when nations across the globe, from India to Ireland, sought to reclaim their voices after centuries of rule by others. Each of these peoples asked the same questions that Stewart poses: How do we differ? What do we want? How do we stand in the world? The answers were not always simple, nor free of conflict, but they ignited the fire of renewal. So too does Scotland’s questioning stand in this long tradition of self-discovery, where the past is examined not as a weight, but as a teacher.

The heart of Stewart’s inquiry also rests upon mistakes—for to ignore the errors of history is to risk repeating them. A wise society does not cover its wounds with silence, but opens them to the light, learns from them, and grows stronger. Whether it be divisions of class, struggles over sovereignty, or the challenges of poverty and inequality, Scotland’s story—like that of every nation—is written in both glory and error. Stewart urges us to face both with honesty, for only in truth can a people find its rightful position in the world.

What lesson, then, must we take? That every nation—and every individual—must ask these same questions. Who am I? What are my ambitions? What mistakes have I made? And how shall I stand in the world? These questions are not signs of weakness, but of maturity. A people that does not question itself is blind, but a people that dares to ask, even if the answers are painful, is alive, awake, and prepared for destiny.

Practical action flows naturally from this teaching. As citizens, study the history of your land not as myth, but as truth. Speak with your neighbours, but do not lose your own voice. When building the future, do not only chase wealth, but seek justice, creativity, and compassion as the pillars of your society. And most of all, never cease to ask questions, for questions are the fire that keeps a people from falling into complacency.

Thus, Stewart’s words stand as both challenge and guide: to be Scottish—or to belong to any land—is not merely to inherit, but to choose, to learn, and to act. Let us then, in the spirit of his inquiry, live as a people who remember their past, honor their distinctness, and step boldly into the world, carrying their identity not as a burden, but as a flame.