Of Conviction and Calculation

"Interestingly enough," Mike Huckabee once mused, "if there was ever an occasion for someone to have argued against the death penalty, I think Jesus could have done so on the cross." This is how the then-governor, now a serious presidential contender, squared his support for capital punishment with his Christianity. This month the creationist Mr Huckabee and various other Republican hopefuls have fallen over one another to insist on their belief in "every word" of the Bible. European liberals may be tempted to reflect smugly that it couldn't happen here. And it probably couldn't. But the newsworthiness of Nick Clegg, the new Liberal Democrat leader, professing atheism last week is a reminder that British public life is far from perfectly secular. So, too, is Tony Blair's conversion to Catholicism over the weekend. For the indications are that the move was postponed because of the risks involved in making it while prime minister.

Mr Blair first attended Catholic mass long before he was elected to rule. During his time at No 10 there were reports of back door visits by priests, and yet - until he met the Pope in the final week of his premiership - the subject of conversion was avoided. Mr Blair had every right to keep his faith private, of course: the worry is that sectarian suspicions forced him to keep it under wraps. When the statute book retains an 18th-century law barring Catholics from assuming the throne, anxieties about residual anti-papism are understandable. All the more so, since the difficulties of Mr Blair's colleague Ruth Kelly in the press have sometimes been exacerbated on account of her Catholic convictions. Not even Mr Blair's enemies could claim his policies were unduly influenced by the Vatican - on everything from the Iraq war to gay rights he took the opposite stance. His allegiance is a personal matter. He should have felt entitled to treat it as such.

What is true of belief is equally true of its absence. On Wednesday Mr Clegg faced a series of quick-fire questions on the radio. One was "do you believe in God?", and he responded with an admirably straightforward "no". His frankness must have caused alarm among his aides, since he later put out a statement stressing the Christianity of others in his family and insisting he did not have a "closed heart" on religious matters. It is to Mr Clegg's credit that he did not backtrack, but it is worrying that he felt pressed to say anything further at all.

After all, his lack of faith puts him in the majority. While the fuss yesterday was over Catholics overtaking Anglicans in church attendance, most Britons have no faith at all. A Guardian poll a year ago found that non-believers outnumbered believers by two to one, and that more thought religion caused harm than judged it a force for good. The Church of England does not directly demand piety from politicians - the Archbishop of Canterbury responded to Mr Clegg's words by saying that what counts is sincerity. But the official link between church and state is part of a culture that pressures politicians, particularly on the Conservative side. Neither John Major nor Margaret Thatcher were particularly religious, though both went through the motions. David Cameron, not known for his observance in the past, is now reported to attend church reasonably regularly.

Godlessness is not the same taboo within labor, with Michael Foot and Neil Kinnock among those who have owned up to it. But the sincerely religious pepper the party's top ranks: they include the current prime minister as well as the last. If anything, the religious are overrepresented in politics, so there should be opportunities for atheists such as Mr Clegg. But more important than any advantage is the principle. Politicians must have the right to believe - or not believe - as their conscience dictates. A culture that inhibits them from doing that encourages nothing but humbug.