What does Section 3(c) actually do?
Section 3 is the part of the Patents Act that lists “what is not an invention.” Clause (c) says, in substance, that the mere discovery of a scientific principle, an abstract theory, or a living or non-living substance that occurs in nature is not an invention at all. In other words, even if something is new in the sense that no one knew it before, the law may still shrug and say: “Nice discovery. Not patentable.”
To understand why that matters, you have to step back to Section 2(1)(j), which defines “invention” as a new product or process that involves an inventive step and is capable of industrial application. That’s the positive test: do you have something new, non-obvious, and useful in industry? Section 3 then adds a second, negative filter: even if you pass Section 2(1)(j), the law will still throw you out if you fall into any Section 3 exclusion such as 3(b), 3(c), 3(d), 3(k), and so on.
So you always go through two gates. The first gate asks, “Is this technically an invention?” The second gate, including 3(c), asks, “Even if it is, should the law refuse to recognise it for policy reasons?”
Discovery vs invention: where does the law draw the line?
The heart of 3(c) is a simple-sounding question: what’s the difference between discovering something and inventing something?
Think of a scientist who realises that a certain Himalayan herb has strong anti-inflammatory properties. That “aha” moment is a discovery. The herb existed, the property existed; she just connected the dots. Now picture the same scientist designing a stable, skin-friendly gel using a precise concentration of that herb, combined with other ingredients in specific ratios, and a manufacturing process that gives the product a certain shelf life and efficacy. That’s much closer to an invention.
The law wants to keep basic building blocks of science and nature open to everyone. Gravity, Maxwell’s equations, a naturally-occurring antibody, a rock you find in Ladakh, a virus floating in the air – these are part of the common pool. Patent law rewards what you build using those building blocks, not the fact that you spotted them.
This is why Indian commentators repeatedly stress that Section 3(c) hits the “mere” discovery of a principle or natural substance, not a human-made technical solution that applies that discovery.
In practice, however, drawing the line is messy. Does isolating a compound from a plant count as “mere discovery”? What if you purify it, change its form, or create a novel formulation around it? That’s where Indian case law has stepped in and given Section 3(c) some real texture.
How did Section 3(c) get this form?
The current language of 3(c) is not accidental. Before the 2002 amendment that made India TRIPS-compliant, the focus was mostly on scientific principles and abstract theories. After the amendment, Parliament added the explicit reference to “discovery of any living thing or non-living substance occurring in nature.”
Why add that last part? Largely because biotech and life-science inventions were exploding worldwide. There were global battles about patenting genes, microorganisms, natural extracts, and traditional knowledge. TRIPS gives countries some room to exclude certain subject matter from patentability. India used that room to clearly say: if you’re only claiming something exactly as nature made it, whether living or non-living, that’s not something you can monopolise.
But “exactly as nature made it” turns out to be a very loaded phrase. That is what the courts have had to interpret.
Three faces of Section 3(c), in plain language
If you strip away the legalese, Section 3(c) really hits three kinds of things.
First, it excludes the discovery of scientific principles. Think of laws of physics, chemical relationships, mathematical correlations. The equation itself is out of bounds, but a concrete, technical way of using that equation in an engine, a chip design, or an industrial process might be perfectly patentable.
Second, it excludes the formulation of abstract theories. These are explanations and models – economic theories, game-theoretic frameworks, abstract algorithms, AI models as pure math. Again, the theory as such is not patentable, but if you implement it in a specific technical way that produces a real-world technical effect, you start moving away from 3(c) and into other debates, especially under Section 3(k) for computer-related inventions.
Third, and most controversial today, it excludes the discovery of any living thing or non-living substance that occurs in nature. That line catches everything from a wild bacterial strain to a mineral, a naturally occurring protein, or a plant extract in its natural form. Simply saying “I found molecule X in plant Y” is not enough. Patent offices around the world, including in India, expect you to do more: isolate, modify, structure, formulate or use that molecule in a way that reflects human design rather than mere observation.
The early turning point: Dimminaco and living vaccines
One of the earliest important Indian decisions touching this area was the Calcutta High Court’s judgment in Dimminaco A.G. v. Controller of Patents & Designs in 2001.
Dimminaco involved a process for preparing a live vaccine for bursitis in poultry. The Patent Office refused the application, partly because the end product contained living organisms. There was a sense that if the final product was “alive,” it somehow fell outside what Section 2(1)(j) contemplated. The High Court disagreed. It held that a process which resulted in a product containing living organisms could still qualify as a patentable process, as long as it met the usual tests of novelty, inventive step, and industrial applicability.
Dimminaco technically predates the specific “living or non-living substance occurring in nature” language introduced later in 3(c). But as later commentary has noted, it opened the door for recognising that using biological material, even living material, doesn’t automatically make an invention non-patentable. What matters is what the human inventor has done with that material.
That theme comes back in a much more refined way in recent case law.
Diamond Star: when does “mere discovery” end and “something new” begin?
Fast-forward to 2023. The Delhi High Court had to interpret 3(c) in a modern commercial context in Diamond Star Global Sdn. Bhd. v. Joint Controller of Patents.
The applicant had claimed a personal care composition using wood vinegar obtained from a particular type of mangrove, processed so that certain irritating components were removed, and used within specific concentration ranges. The Patent Office treated this as essentially a re-packaged natural substance.
The Delhi High Court took a more nuanced view. It emphasised that 3(c) excludes the mere discovery of a substance occurring in nature, but not necessarily every product that uses that substance. When the claim defines a particular source, a specific process of obtaining or purifying the material, a defined composition, and a technical effect, it can go beyond “mere discovery” into the realm of invention.
The judgment repeatedly reminds the Patent Office that Section 2(1)(j) and the entire statutory regime must be applied in a balanced way: you don’t mechanically slap a 3(c) label just because some ingredient traces back to nature. That’s an important signal for founders in FMCG, cosmetics, nutraceuticals and similar sectors, where almost everything begins with a plant, a mineral, or some other natural input.
Genmab and the antibody cluster: a big moment for biotech
Then came a set of appeals before the Madras High Court that pushed the 3(c) discussion to a much deeper level. The leading one is Genmab A/S v. Assistant Controller of Patents and Designs, decided in March 2024.
The case dealt with monoclonal antibodies. The Patent Office had refused the claims by essentially saying: these nucleotide and amino acid sequences correspond to human proteins, so they are “substances occurring in nature” and fall under 3(c).
Justice Senthilkumar Ramamoorthy took a very different approach. He examined the language of 3(c) closely and held that the exclusion applies to things that truly occur in nature, not to man-made non-living substances such as synthetic antibodies that are engineered in the lab. The court highlighted that monoclonal antibodies in these cases were created through human intervention and did not exist in nature in the same form. They were, therefore, not simply “discovered,” but made.
Around the same time, related appeals like Imclone and Immunas involved similar questions about biological inventions and the reach of 3(c).
For biotech founders and researchers, that’s huge. It means that structurally or functionally engineered molecules – even if inspired by biology – can be framed as inventions, not mere discoveries, if you show how they differ from and go beyond what nature offers.
How do you know if you’re still in “discovery land”?
So, as a practical matter, how do you figure out whether your idea is just a discovery or a genuine invention?
Start with the basic invention test in Section 2(1)(j): do you have a product or process that’s new, involves an inventive step, and can be used in industry? If all you have is “we found that compound X exists in plant Y,” you probably fail even that first gate. If you’ve gone further – you have a stable formulation, a specific process with defined parameters, or a new use that requires technical teaching – you’re getting closer to invention territory.
Next, stare hard at Section 3(c). Ask yourself, very concretely: am I claiming the natural thing itself, or am I claiming what I’ve done with it? If your main claim reads like a research finding (“We discovered that this plant extract has antioxidant properties”), it’s almost certainly still a discovery. If your claim reads more like a recipe or blueprint (“A skin cream comprising 18–22% of X extract processed by steps A, B, C, combined with Y and Z, producing a measurable technical effect”), you’re shifting towards invention.
Finally, remember that 3(c) is not the only trap. Even if you clear it, other parts of Section 3 may still cause trouble. A slightly tweaked natural substance with no real enhancement might fall under 3(d). A simple mixture of known ingredients, each doing what it normally does, could be hit by 3(e) as a “mere admixture.” Plant and animal varieties trigger 3(j). Computer-implemented theories can face 3(k). Serious patent drafting in India is almost always a multi-clause obstacle course.
For a founder, that means you don’t just tell your patent lawyer, “We found something cool.” You walk in with: “Here’s how we extract it; here’s how we stabilise it; here’s the exact structural or functional twist that didn’t exist before; here’s the data showing a technical advantage.” That’s the language that moves you out of “mere discovery.”
From lab notebook to claim: what courts are really rewarding
When you read Dimminaco, Diamond Star and Genmab together, a pattern emerges.
In Dimminaco, the court was impressed that the claimed process produced a commercially useful vaccine through specific technical steps, despite the presence of living organisms. The focus was on industrial applicability and human intervention, not on the mere fact that “life” was involved.
In Diamond Star, the Delhi High Court criticised the Patent Office for looking only at the natural origin of wood vinegar instead of the whole composition and its engineered features. The court effectively said: show me the composition, the process, the concentration ranges, the technical effect; if those aspects are new and inventive, I can treat this as “something altogether new,” not just a bottle of nature.
In Genmab and the antibody appeals, the Madras High Court went into the semantics of 3(c) and the phrase “occurring in nature.” It concluded that synthetic, novel non-living substances crafted by human ingenuity – like engineered monoclonal antibodies – should not be shoehorned into the category of “discovered natural substances.” That interpretive move gives Indian biotech a much clearer path: if you can show that your sequence, structure, or functional profile doesn’t exist in nature, Section 3(c) shouldn’t be the end of the conversation.
Put simply, courts are not allergic to nature-based or biology-based inventions. They are allergic to claims that pretend that nature’s own products are private property without enough human contribution.
A quick look abroad: how does India’s approach compare?
If you’ve looked at US or European patent law, you’ll notice similar themes.
The US “product of nature” doctrine under 35 U.S.C. § 101, shaped by cases like Funk Brothers, Myriad and Chakrabarty, also says you can’t patent natural phenomena or products of nature as such, but you can patent markedly different, human-made inventions that use them. The EU’s framework under the European Patent Convention excludes discoveries “as such,” yet allows patents on technical applications of those discoveries.
India sits somewhere in that broader family, but with its own statutory twist in Section 3. Because exclusions like 3(d), 3(j) and 3(p) are written into the Act, our system is sometimes seen as stricter, especially for pharma and biotech. At the same time, decisions like Genmab show that Indian courts are willing to interpret those exclusions in a way that still leaves room for genuine human-made innovation.
For Indian founders planning global filings, the practical takeaway is simple: don’t just copy-paste a US claim set and hope for the best. Think consciously about which claims might ring 3(c) alarm bells in India and work with your patent professionals to frame them in a way that foregrounds human design, not just natural origin.
For students and teachers: how to think about 3(c) in exams and classrooms
If you’re a law student, Section 3(c) is a fantastic topic for a 10- or 15-mark answer because you can weave together doctrine, policy and case law.
You’d usually start with the structure of the Act and the role of Section 2(1)(j), then lay out the three limbs of 3(c) in your own words. From there, you can walk through the evolution: early doubts about biological material, the Dimminaco turning point, the modern clarification in Diamond Star, and the 2024 antibody decisions from Madras. Then you can move into critical analysis: does 3(c) strike the right balance between encouraging biotech innovation and keeping nature’s gifts in the public domain? Would you tweak the wording if you were drafting a new amendment?
For professors, these cases are gold for classroom exercises. You can hand students an abstract scientific discovery and ask them to “convert” it into an invention that escapes 3(c). Or you can give them a rough claim and an examiner’s 3(c) objection and ask them to draft a response, drawing on how the Delhi and Madras High Courts have read the phrase “occurring in nature.” That kind of work builds exactly the instincts a patent agent or IP lawyer needs.
Why Section 3(c) is not your enemy if you treat it as a design constraint
It’s tempting, especially as a founder or inventor, to see Section 3(c) as a hostile clause whose only job is to reject your patent. But if you flip the perspective, it’s also a design brief.
The clause basically tells you: don’t stop at “I found something.” Push yourself to “here’s what I built with it.” Don’t just isolate; engineer. Don’t just map; implement. Don’t just describe; teach the world how to reproduce a technical solution that nature itself doesn’t hand out ready-made.
If you keep that in mind from the moment you write your first lab note or whiteboard your startup idea, you’ll find that Section 3(c) starts to feel less like a guillotine and more like a filter that forces you toward deeper, more defensible innovation. And if you ever do end up arguing a 3(c) objection in front of the Controller or reading these judgments before your patent agent exam, you’ll recognise the same pattern running through them all: the law doesn’t reward you for finding the world as it is.
It rewards you for what you manage to make of it.
