“And if you fear that you will not deal justly with the orphan girls, then marry those that please you of [other] women, two or three or four. But if you fear that you will not be just, then [marry only] one or those your right hand possesses. That is more suitable that you may not incline [to injustice].”
The excerpt from Surah An-Nisa, verse 3 (4:3), is frequently cited as one of the religious bases used to discuss and legitimize polygamy. Amid the continuing debate surrounding the practice, this verse repeatedly becomes a point of reference—whether to defend a man’s right to marry more than one woman or to question how the verse is interpreted and applied in contemporary society.
In 2021, for instance, public discussion about polygamy resurfaced after a webinar titled “45 Days to Polygamy Success” was promoted. The webinar featured Hafidin, who identified himself as a practitioner and trainer of polygamy. The promotional material did not merely discuss polygamy as a religious concept. It also addressed practical challenges that men might encounter when attempting to enter a polygamous marriage, including situations in which a wife refused to accept the plan or when an existing marriage was at risk of separation because of the decision.
The controversy surrounding the webinar demonstrated that polygamy is not simply a theological question debated in religious texts or academic discussions. It is also a practice that continues to find space for promotion, education, and negotiation in society. Behind the debates about whether polygamy is permissible, however, are people whose lives are directly affected by the decision—particularly women who may suddenly find themselves having to negotiate a marriage that was previously understood as a relationship between two people.
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Within Islamic history, polygamy existed during the time of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), who had multiple wives. These marriages, however, took place within the particular social and historical circumstances of seventh-century Arabia. Some of those circumstances included social structures in which women who had lost their husbands in conflict could face economic and social vulnerability.
The historical existence of a practice, however, does not automatically mean that the practice can be understood separately from the social context in which it emerged. Surah An-Nisa, verse 3 itself addresses the issue of justice, particularly in relation to female orphans, while also setting a limit on the number of wives a man may marry. The verse contains an important condition: if a person fears that he cannot act justly, he is instructed to marry only one woman.
This emphasis on justice matters. When the verse is interpreted only as a permission—or even an encouragement—for men to marry multiple women, its context and its warning about justice can easily become secondary. The discussion then risks being reduced to a simple question: “Is polygamy allowed?” Meanwhile, another question becomes less visible: “What does justice actually look like for the people involved?”
Where Are Women’s Voices in the Debate?
This is where I find myself troubled by the way polygamy is often discussed.
Whether we realize it or not, debates surrounding polygamy frequently stop at the question of whether a man is permitted to have more than one wife. We debate, condemn, defend, or justify the practice using various religious arguments, both in formal discussions and through social media. Yet the voices of the women who live within these relationships do not always occupy the same space in the conversation.
What does it feel like to be a wife when your husband decides to marry another woman? How does a woman understand fairness in a marriage when a relationship that previously involved only herself and her husband suddenly includes another person? What happens to the sense of security, intimacy, and partnership that she previously understood as part of the marriage?
And perhaps the most important question is this: to what extent does a woman’s decision to accept or reject polygamy truly emerge from her own free will?
Asking these questions does not mean assuming that every woman in a polygamous marriage is a victim. That assumption would also erase women’s agency. Women have different experiences, circumstances, values, and reasons for making decisions about marriage. Some may refuse polygamy. Some may accept it after negotiating certain conditions with their husbands. Others may consciously choose to enter a polygamous marriage because they understand it as compatible with their religious beliefs or personal circumstances.
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The point is not to replace one generalization with another.
Rather, the point is to recognize that the statement “she chose it” does not necessarily tell us everything about the conditions surrounding that choice.
In any relationship shaped by gender norms and particular religious understandings, saying “no” to a husband may not always feel like a simple choice. A woman’s refusal of polygamy may be framed as disobedience, a lack of patience, an inability to accept God’s will, or a failure to fulfill her responsibilities as a wife.
In such circumstances, consent becomes more complicated than simply asking whether a woman eventually said “yes” or “no.”
When Patience Becomes a Woman’s Obligation
The question of polygamy ultimately brings us to a much broader discussion about women’s agency within marriage. It is connected to how society understands the rights and obligations of husbands and wives, and to whose needs are considered more important when those needs conflict.
In everyday life, the discourse surrounding women’s obligations can often be heard more loudly than the discussion about women’s rights.
I frequently encounter stories on social media from women recounting advice they—or people close to them—received from marriage officiants, religious teachers, families, or other figures of authority. Women are told to understand their husbands, manage the household, yield to their partners, maintain the family, and fulfill their husbands’ needs, including sexual needs.
All of these expectations can sometimes be condensed into one seemingly simple word: “serve.”
I have always felt uncomfortable with that word when it is directed primarily at women. As if a husband’s needs automatically become a wife’s obligations.
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Of course, caring for a partner and meeting each other’s needs is not inherently problematic. Mutual care is an important part of any relationship. What becomes troubling is when the language of service is disproportionately attached to women. While the husband’s role as someone who must also understand, accommodate, care for, and make sacrifices for his wife receives considerably less attention.
In an egalitarian marriage, care should be reciprocal. Sacrifice should not be expected from only one side. Understanding should not be a one-way obligation. A wife should not always be the person who is expected to understand. While the husband becomes the person who must be understood.
This is also why the language of patience deserves to be questioned.
Patience can certainly be a virtue. But when women are repeatedly told to be patient in situations that cause them pain, the concept of patience can shift from a personal value into a mechanism of social control. A woman who expresses anger may be considered emotional, her who refuses may be called disobedient. A woman who questions her husband’s decision may be accused of lacking faith.
Meanwhile, the man’s decision itself can sometimes receive greater legitimacy simply because it is presented through the language of religious permission.
Consent Is More Than a Final Answer
At this point, the discussion about polygamy is no longer simply about whether a man can have more than one wife. It touches upon broader questions of power: who gets to determine the direction of a marriage, how consent is formed, and how much space women have to negotiate decisions concerning their own lives and bodies.
A woman’s choices are never made in a vacuum. Family expectations, social norms, economic dependence, relationships of power, access to information, and religious interpretations absorbed since childhood can all influence the choices available to her.
This does not mean that women are incapable of making autonomous decisions. On the contrary, taking these conditions seriously allows us to understand women’s agency more fully.
Agency is not simply the ability to make a decision. It also involves examining the circumstances in which that decision becomes possible—or difficult—to make.
That distinction is important when discussing polygamy. If a woman accepts her husband’s decision, we should not automatically assume that she was forced. But neither should we automatically assume that her acceptance occurred in a completely free and equal environment.
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The same applies when a woman refuses polygamy. Her refusal should not automatically be interpreted as a failure to understand religion or a lack of patience. It may simply be an expression of her boundaries, values, or understanding of what she wants from a marriage.
Perhaps this is where conversations about religion, marriage, and women’s agency need to become more complicated. Instead of asking only whether something is permitted, we can also ask how that permission operates in real people’s lives.
Who benefits from a particular interpretation? Who carries the emotional, social, economic, or domestic costs? Whose consent is sought? Whose discomfort is dismissed? And whose patience is repeatedly demanded?
These questions do not necessarily challenge religious belief itself. They challenge the assumption that a particular interpretation of religion should automatically end the conversation about justice within a relationship.
What Kind of Religious Values Are We Upholding?
Ultimately, there are several things worth reflecting on.
When religious interpretations are used to justify practices that may cause harm to one party—particularly women who may occupy a more vulnerable position within certain relationships—what kind of religious values are we actually upholding?
If justice is one of the central principles emphasized in discussions of polygamy, then justice cannot simply be measured by whether a man technically fulfills a religious condition. It must also invite us to listen to the people who experience the consequences of that decision.
And if women’s patience is continually framed as a form of obedience and a path toward spiritual reward, we need to ask: are we encouraging women to cultivate resilience and faith, or are we inadvertently teaching them that enduring injustice is part of being a “good” woman?
There is an important difference between patience as a personal virtue and patience as an obligation imposed upon women.
Religion can become a source of meaning, strength, and ethical guidance. But religious language can also be interpreted and deployed within unequal social structures. That is why conversations about religion and gender require more than simply quoting a verse. They require attention to context, power, lived experiences, and the voices of people whose lives are affected by those interpretations.
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Perhaps, then, the question is not merely whether a man is allowed to marry more than one woman.
Perhaps we should also ask whether the women involved have genuinely been given room to speak, negotiate, disagree, and make decisions about their own lives without being immediately told to accept, obey, and be patient.
Because marriage should not become a space where one person’s religiously framed rights automatically become another person’s obligation to endure.
