The Indian Constitution was never conceived merely as a framework for governing an independent nation. Constitutional historian Granville Austin famously described it as an instrument of a “social revolution”; a document intended to transform Indian society by replacing entrenched hierarchies with the principles of justice, liberty, equality and fraternity. This distinction lies at the heart of the debate surrounding the place of ancient Indian texts such as the Manusmriti in legal education.

Socio-political critic and columnist Solomon Mubash argues in his recent essay, From Constitutional Morality to Brahmanical Logic: Judicial Violence and Power, that the controversy extends far beyond curriculum design or the study of history. Instead, he contends that it reflects a deeper contest over the moral and ideological foundations of the Indian republic. Whether or not one agrees with every aspect of his argument, the questions he raises extend far beyond the classroom.

At stake is not whether students should read the Manusmriti. Any serious student of law, history, religion or sociology must engage with texts that have shaped the intellectual traditions of the subcontinent. The real question is how such texts should be situated within a constitutional democracy founded on equal citizenship.

History and heritage are not the same thing.

History seeks to understand the past—its achievements as well as its contradictions. Heritage often seeks to celebrate it. Confusing the two risks turning scholarly inquiry into cultural endorsement. Ancient texts deserve academic engagement because they reveal how societies understood law, authority and social order. They do not automatically acquire normative authority simply because they are old.

The Manusmriti occupies a distinctive and contested place in India’s intellectual history. As Indologist Patrick Olivelle, whose translation remains among the most authoritative, notes, it is one of the most influential Dharmashastra texts prescribing norms of social and legal conduct. Historians have also pointed out that while its actual legal authority varied across regions and historical periods, its prescriptions articulated a social order organised around hereditary hierarchy.

The text differentiates duties, privileges and punishments according to caste and gender. Women, Shudras and those placed outside the varna order occupy unequal positions within its normative framework. Scholars including B.R. Ambedkar, Nicholas Dirks and Christophe Jaffrelot have therefore interpreted the Manusmriti as a powerful symbol of graded social inequality, even while recognising that lived social practises were often more complex than any single text could capture.

Recognising this historical reality is not an act of hostility towards Indian civilisation. It is an acknowledgement that every civilisation contains traditions worthy of preservation alongside institutions that deserve critical scrutiny.

It is precisely this distinction that informed Dr B.R. Ambedkar’s understanding of constitutional morality. In his final address to the Constituent Assembly on 25 November 1949, Ambedkar warned that political democracy could not survive unless it rested upon social democracy founded on liberty, equality and fraternity. He cautioned that India was entering “a life of contradictions”, where political equality would coexist with deep social and economic inequality unless constitutional values transformed society itself.

For Ambedkar, constitutional morality was therefore not blind allegiance to a legal document. It was a civic ethic that required citizens and institutions to judge inherited customs against constitutional principles rather than treating tradition as the ultimate source of legitimacy.

His public burning of the Manusmriti during the Mahad Satyagraha in 1927 has generally been understood by historians as a symbolic rejection of scriptural sanction for caste hierarchy—not a rejection of Indian civilisation itself. His later leadership of the Constitution’s Drafting Committee represented an attempt to replace birth-based status with equal constitutional citizenship.

That constitutional commitment found concrete expression in Articles 14, 15 and 17 of the Constitution, which guarantee equality before the law, prohibit discrimination on specified grounds and abolish untouchability. A Dalit labourer, a Brahmin scholar, an Adivasi woman and a member of a religious minority stand equal before the law not because tradition confers equal worth upon them, but because the Constitution does.

That was the revolutionary promise of the Republic.

Mubash argues that a continuing tension exists between constitutional morality and what he describes as Brahmanical social logic. Regardless of whether one adopts that terminology, the broader constitutional question remains relevant. The tension between constitutional ideals and entrenched social hierarchies continues to surface whenever caste-based discrimination is defended in the language of tradition, women’s autonomy is subordinated to customary norms, or inherited privilege seeks legitimacy through appeals to civilisational continuity rather than constitutional principle.

The danger lies in confusing antiquity with authority. No constitutional democracy derives its legitimacy from the age of its ideas. Its legitimacy derives from the justice of its institutions.

Constitutional morality asks a different question from historical tradition. It asks not whether a practice is ancient but whether it is just; not whether it is customary but whether it respects the equal dignity of every citizen. The Supreme Court has repeatedly reaffirmed this principle in decisions such as Navtej Singh Johar v. Union of India (2018) and Indian Young Lawyers Association v. State of Kerala (2018), holding that constitutional morality must prevail where social morality infringes fundamental rights.

Yet the constitutional transformation envisioned by Ambedkar remains incomplete. Ambedkar himself distinguished between political democracy and social democracy, warning that the former could not endure without the latter. More than seven decades after Independence, the continued incidence of caste-based atrocities, manual scavenging, honour killings and structural exclusion—documented in reports of the National Crime Records Bureau, the National Human Rights Commission and successive government agencies—demonstrates that constitutional equality has not fully displaced social hierarchy.

The response to this challenge cannot be historical amnesia. Ancient texts should be read, debated and critically examined. But they must be approached as historical artefacts rather than constitutional guides. Legal education should encourage students not only to understand what such texts prescribed but also to examine who benefited from those prescriptions, who was excluded by them, and why independent India consciously chose a different constitutional path.

Every civilisation possesses traditions worth preserving. Every intellectual tradition contains ideas worthy of study. But no tradition becomes immune from criticism merely because it is ancient.

The Constitution occupies a unique place in India’s public life because it represents a conscious normative departure from systems that assign human worth by birth. As Granville Austin argued, it sought to facilitate a peaceful social revolution through democratic institutions rather than through coercion. It is therefore not merely a legal document but an aspirational framework for building a society in which liberty is not restricted by caste, equality is not constrained by status and fraternity is not defeated by inherited divisions.

The Constitution is not a mirror reflecting India as it was. It is a blueprint imagining India as it could be, and ought to be.

The real challenge before Indian institutions is not that they have forgotten their roots. It is that they sometimes forget the purpose of the constitutional project itself. That project was never about recovering an idealised past. It was about constructing a more equal future.

The future of Indian democracy will not ultimately be determined by how frequently it invokes its civilisational inheritance. It will depend on whether its institutions continue to uphold the constitutional vision articulated by Ambedkar, embedded in the Constitution and reaffirmed by the Supreme Court. India’s civilisational inheritance deserves careful study. Its Constitution deserves primacy. The Constitution is not the antithesis of Indian civilisation; it is arguably the Republic’s most profound civilisational achievement.

Oindrila Dasgupta is a doctoral researcher at Guru Gobind Singh Indraprastha University and teaches Social Inclusion and Journalism. Her work focuses on role of journalism in terms of social justice praxis and pedagogy in India.

Courtesy: The AIDEM

The post Beyond the Manusmriti Debate: Why Constitutional Morality Must Remain India’s North Star appeared first on SabrangIndia.