AT the time of the wedding of Prince William to Kate Middleton, there was renewed discussion about whether the royal succession should skip a generation and crown William king instead of his father.

At the same time, there was dragged out of the pantry again the old chestnut of whether Charles, if or when he becomes king, should present himself not as Defender of the Faith – ie the Church of England’s version of Christianity – but as Defender of Faith, some sort of champion of all the religions. This would cause ructions. The first monarch to be given the title Defender of the Faith was Henry VIII. It was given to him by the Pope and the faith referred to was Roman Catholicism.

Henry subsequently separated himself and the realm from the Pope’s jurisdiction and the title ever since has referred to the faith of the established Church of England.

I suppose King Charles III could affirm that he is Defender of Faith if he means Christianity in general: Anglicans, Roman Catholics, Methodists, United Reform and other smaller Christian denominations. But even in this limited definition, problems would arise. For example, Roman Catholics believe in the transubstantiation of the bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ in the sacrifice of the mass. Most members of the other Christian denominations would repudiate this doctrine and even claim vehemently that the Holy Communion is not a sacrifice but a memorial The difficulties are even more intractable when we extend the definition beyond the Christian faith. How could it be possible for the King to be Defender of the Jewish, Muslim and Hindu faiths when the central doctrine of Christianity is the divinity of Christ, while the other faiths do not accept this?

He could, of course, say that his promise to defend faith meant merely to uphold the right of the members of different faiths to practise their religion openly in this country and peacefully. But they have that right already.

Whereas the claim to be Defender of Faith must surely reckon with the doctrinal component.

And what would happen if there were a serious dispute between one faith and another – a dispute in which both protagonists could not be in the right on pain of logical contradiction?

On whose side would the Defender of Faith come down on then?

It gets worse. Would King Charles defend the doctrines of Jehovah’s witnesses, seventh day adventists, christian scientists, rastafarians and scientologists? In the support of Christian science the king would have to deny the reality of pain, suffering and the whole material universe. And in the support of scientology, he would be forced to accept the existence of such shadowy phenomena as thetans and engrams. Of course, one can see the attraction of claiming the title Defender of Faith. It is very much in tune with the spirit of the inclusive, sentimental, cuddly fantasy by which all politicians like to describe our society: an agreeable, multicultural melting pot. But multiculturalism is the god that failed, as even many of its most prominent erstwhile promoters now admit.

And mere niceness is not enough. In short, we might ask just whom would the king end up defending? Everyone perhaps with atheistic exceptions. But there is no proof that atheism is true. It too is a faith. Shouldn’t the king defend it too?