Nature Did Not Draft the Alibi

 

 

“Men are polygamous by nature” is not a scientific conclusion. It is a courtroom defence crafted without evidence, repeated often enough to sound like truth. In the theatre of human relationships, biology is frequently summoned as a convenient witness, one that cannot be cross examined.

As a lawyer, one learns early that the most dangerous arguments are those that feel instinctively correct but collapse under scrutiny. This is one of them.

Human beings are not governed by instinct alone. If they were, there would be no contracts, no marriages, no promises, no law. Civilization itself is a rebellion against raw impulse. The very existence of commitment proves that restraint is as natural as desire.

The claim of inherent male polygamy is less about nature and more about narrative. It converts choice into inevitability and responsibility into accident. It quietly absolves the individual by shifting blame to biology. But law does not recognise such poetry. Nor does ethics.

Indian constitutional jurisprudence, especially in recent years, has moved in the opposite direction. It has consistently expanded the idea of autonomy, dignity, and choice in matters of intimacy.

The landmark judgment in Navtej Singh Johar v. Union of India marked a decisive shift. The Supreme Court did not merely decriminalise homosexuality. It affirmed that sexual orientation is an intrinsic part of identity, not a moral failing. The court spoke in the language of dignity, not biology. It recognised that human relationships cannot be reduced to rigid categories imposed by society.

Similarly, in Joseph Shine v. Union of India, the court struck down the colonial offence of adultery. It did not endorse infidelity. Instead, it refused to criminalise it. The judgment made a subtle but crucial distinction. The state cannot police morality, but individuals remain accountable within the realm of relationships. Adultery moved from crime to consequence.

Live in relationships, once whispered about, now stand acknowledged within legal frameworks. Courts have repeatedly held that consenting adults have the right to cohabit without marriage. High Courts across India have extended protection to such couples, recognising that the right to life under Article 21 includes the right to choose one’s partner and the manner of living.

Even more telling is the judiciary’s evolving engagement with LGBTQ relationships. While the Supreme Court in Supriyo v. Union of India stopped short of recognising same sex marriage, it emphatically upheld the dignity and rights of queer individuals. It directed the state to ensure that such relationships are not discriminated against in access to services and benefits.

High Courts have gone further in certain contexts. They have granted protection to same sex couples facing familial threats. They have acknowledged that love, regardless of gender, falls within the protective ambit of constitutional liberty.

Taken together, these developments reveal a consistent judicial philosophy. The law is not interested in who desires whom. It is concerned with whether that desire respects consent, dignity, and autonomy.

Against this backdrop, the claim of “natural polygamy” appears almost juvenile. The law does not prohibit desire. It regulates conduct. It expects individuals to honour commitments they voluntarily enter into. If one chooses monogamy, then fidelity is not a biological burden but a moral obligation.

Philosophically, the argument collapses even further. To say that something is natural is not to say it is justified. Anger is natural. So is greed. So is violence. Civilization exists precisely to discipline these impulses, not to glorify them.

The more honest statement would be this: human beings are capable of multiple desires, but also capable of restraint. The tension between the two is what defines moral agency.

There is also a subtle arrogance in attributing polygamy exclusively to men. It assumes that women are passive participants in the architecture of desire. Modern reality has long dismantled this illusion. Desire is not gendered. Responsibility is not optional.

The humour lies in the defence itself. A man caught in infidelity suddenly becomes an evolutionary biologist. He discovers “nature” only after being discovered. Before that, he is remarkably committed to secrecy, which is not a known trait of natural behaviour.

If polygamy were truly inevitable, concealment would be unnecessary. One does not hide what is natural. One hides what one knows to be questionable.

In the end, the law offers no refuge to such arguments. It neither criminalises desire nor excuses deception. It places the burden where it belongs on choice.

Relationships are not governed by what one feels in a fleeting moment, but by what one chooses over time. Fidelity is not the absence of temptation. It is the refusal to convert temptation into action.

Nature did not draft the alibi. Humans did.

And like most poorly drafted arguments, it fails the moment it is tested.

Siddhartha Shankar Mishra is an advocate at the Supreme Court of India and a commentator on law, politics and society.