In a tense moment during the ongoing Sabarimala reference hearing, the Supreme Court rebuked a lawyer appearing before the nine-judge Constitution Bench, cautioning him not to argue in a manner that appeared to trivialize or overstate constitutional propositions. The exchange took place in proceedings where the Court is reconsidering some of the most foundational questions in Indian religious freedom jurisprudence, including the Essential Religious Practices test, denominational rights, judicial review over religious customs, and the scope of State-led social reform.
The Sabarimala reference is not confined to the question of entry of women into the Sabarimala temple. It has evolved into a larger constitutional inquiry on how courts should approach claims of religious autonomy when such claims intersect with equality, dignity and reform. The nine-judge Bench hearing the reference comprises CJI Surya Kant and Justices B.V. Nagarathna, M.M. Sundresh, Ahsanuddin Amanullah, Aravind Kumar, Augustine George Masih, Prasanna B. Varale, R. Mahadevan and Joymalya Bagchi.
The Court’s rebuke must be understood in this wider setting. Constitution Bench hearings demand precision, restraint and doctrinal clarity. Arguments on religion, tradition and reform can easily slip into rhetoric, but the Court appeared keen to ensure that submissions remain anchored in constitutional text, precedent and principle. The remark “don’t argue like this” therefore reflects more than courtroom impatience; it signals judicial insistence that counsel must assist the Court, not convert constitutional adjudication into ideological assertion.
At the heart of the reference lies the contested Essential Religious Practices doctrine. Developed through decisions beginning with the Shirur Mutt line of cases, the ERP test permits courts to examine whether a practice claimed as religious is essential or integral to that religion. Critics argue that this places judges in the uncomfortable position of becoming arbiters of theology, while defenders maintain that without some threshold scrutiny, every exclusionary or discriminatory practice could seek protection under the language of religion.
The hearings have also seen sustained debate over whether courts can interfere with practices described as religious if they violate public order, morality, health or constitutional values. In earlier hearings, the Supreme Court orally observed that courts cannot be barred from scrutinising practices merely because they are defended as religious, especially if they violate constitutional limitations.
At the same time, the Bench has also cautioned that social reform cannot be pursued in a manner that hollows out religion itself. Justice B.V. Nagarathna had earlier observed that in the name of social welfare and reform, one cannot destroy the core of religious identity. This reflects the delicate constitutional balance before the Court: religious autonomy cannot become a shield for exclusion, but reform cannot become a tool for erasing faith.
The issue of denominational rights under Article 26 remains equally central. Religious denominations claim the constitutional right to manage their own affairs in matters of religion. However, the scope of this protection depends on whether the group qualifies as a denomination and whether the disputed practice is genuinely a matter of religion. The Court’s eventual ruling may clarify whether denominational autonomy can override broader equality-based claims, or whether such autonomy must remain subject to constitutional morality.
The proceedings also involve a deeper question of institutional competence. Should courts decide what is essential to a religion, or should they only examine whether a practice violates constitutional limits? This question goes to the heart of Indian secularism. Unlike a strict separation model, Indian secularism permits State intervention in religious practices for reform. Article 25(2) expressly allows laws providing for social welfare and reform, including opening Hindu religious institutions of a public character to all classes and sections of Hindus.
This is where the Sabarimala reference becomes doctrinally transformative. The Court is not merely reviewing one temple practice; it is rethinking the grammar of religious freedom. A recalibrated standard may emerge one that moves away from judges determining theological essentiality and instead focuses on constitutional injury, public character of institutions, equality claims and the limits of State reform power.
The rebuke to counsel, therefore, is part of a larger judicial effort to keep the hearing disciplined. In matters involving faith, arguments often carry emotional and political weight. But constitutional adjudication requires translation of those concerns into legal categories: rights, restrictions, institutional autonomy, reform power and constitutional limitations. The Court’s intervention suggests that rhetorical excess may not assist in resolving questions of such magnitude.
Analytically, the Sabarimala reference represents a clash between three visions of the Constitution. The first protects religious autonomy and inherited practices. The second emphasises equality and dignity as transformative constitutional values. The third insists on institutional restraint, warning that courts must not become theologians or reformers beyond their legitimate role. The challenge before the nine-judge Bench is to harmonise these visions without reducing any one of them to a slogan.
The eventual judgment will likely have consequences far beyond Sabarimala. It may shape disputes involving temple entry, personal law, denominational control, caste-based exclusion, gender-based restrictions and State regulation of religious institutions. It may also determine whether the ERP doctrine survives in its current form, is reformulated, or is replaced by a more constitutionally grounded test.
In conclusion, the Supreme Court’s stern exchange during the hearing is a reminder that constitutional litigation especially on religion demands intellectual discipline. The Sabarimala reference is not a forum for broad civilisational claims alone; it is a constitutional exercise in defining the boundaries of faith, reform and judicial power. The Court’s message appears clear: arguments on religion may be passionate, but before a Constitution Bench, they must first be legally precise.
