SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES

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No. 18–15

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james l. kisor, PETITIONER v. ROBERT WILKIE, SECRETARY OF VETERANS AFFAIRS

on writ of certiorari to the united states court of appeals for the federal circuit

[June 26, 2019]

Justice Kavanaugh, with whom Justice Alito joins, concurring in the judgment.

I agree with Justice Gorsuch’s conclusion that the Auer deference doctrine should be formally retired. I write separately to emphasize two points.

First, I agree with The Chief Justice that “the distance between the majority and Justice Gorsuch is not as great as it may initially appear.” Ante, at 1 (opinion concurring in part). The majority’s approach in Part II−B of its opinion closely resembles the argument advanced by the Solicitor General to “clarif[y] and narro[w]” Auer. Brief for Respondent 15. Importantly, the majority borrows from footnote 9 of this Court’s opinion in Chevron to say that a reviewing court must “exhaust all the ‘traditional tools’ of construction” before concluding that an agency rule is ambiguous and deferring to an agency’s reasonable interpretation. Ante, at 14 (quoting Chevron U. S. A. Inc. v. Natural Resources Defense Council, Inc., 467 U.S. 837, 843, n. 9 (1984)). If a reviewing court employs all of the traditional tools of construction, the court will almost always reach a conclusion about the best interpretation of the regulation at issue. After doing so, the court then will have no need to adopt or defer to an agency’s contrary interpretation. In other words, the footnote 9 principle, taken seriously, means that courts will have no reason or basis to put a thumb on the scale in favor of an agency when courts interpret agency regulations.

Formally rejecting Auer would have been a more direct approach, but rigorously applying footnote 9 should lead in most cases to the same general destination. Umpires in games at Wrigley Field do not defer to the Cubs manager’s in-game interpretation of Wrigley’s ground rules. So too here.

To be sure, some cases involve regulations that employ broad and open-ended terms like “reasonable,” “appropriate,” “feasible,” or “practicable.” Those kinds of terms afford agencies broad policy discretion, and courts allow an agency to reasonably exercise its discretion to choose among the options allowed by the text of the rule. But that is more State Farm than Auer. See Motor Vehicle Mfrs. Assn. of United States, Inc. v. State Farm Mut. Automobile Ins. Co., 463 U.S. 29 (1983).

In short, after today’s decision, a judge should engage in appropriately rigorous scrutiny of an agency’s interpretation of a regulation, and can simultaneously be appropriately deferential to an agency’s reasonable policy choices within the discretion allowed by a regulation.

Second, I also agree with The Chief Justice that “[i]ssues surrounding judicial deference to agency interpretations of their own regulations are distinct from those raised in connection with judicial deference to agency interpretations of statutes enacted by Congress.” Ante, at 2. Like The Chief Justice, “I do not regard the Court’s decision” not to formally overrule Auer “to touch upon the latter question.” Ibid.

SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES

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No. 18–15

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james l. kisor, PETITIONER v. ROBERT WILKIE, SECRETARY OF VETERANS AFFAIRS

on writ of certiorari to the united states court of appeals for the federal circuit

[June 26, 2019]

Justice Gorsuch, with whom Justice Thomas joins, with whom Justice Kavanaugh joins as to Parts I, II, III, IV, and V, and with whom Justice Alito joins as to Parts I, II, and III, concurring in the judgment.

It should have been easy for the Court to say goodbye to Auer v. Robbins.[1] In disputes involving the relationship between the government and the people, Auer requires judges to accept an executive agency’s interpretation of its own regulations even when that interpretation doesn’t represent the best and fairest reading. This rule creates a “systematic judicial bias in favor of the federal government, the most powerful of parties, and against everyone else.”[2] Nor is Auer’s biased rule the product of some congressional mandate we are powerless to correct: This Court invented it, almost by accident and without any meaningful effort to reconcile it with the Administrative Procedure Act or the Constitution. A legion of academics, lower court judges, and Members of this Court—even Auer’s author—has called on us to abandon Auer. Yet today a bare majority flinches, and Auer lives on.

Still, today’s decision is more a stay of execution than a pardon. The Court cannot muster even five votes to say that Auer is lawful or wise. Instead, a majority retains Auer only because of stare decisis. And yet, far from standing by that precedent, the majority proceeds to impose so many new and nebulous qualifications and limitations on Auer that The Chief Justice claims to see little practical difference between keeping it on life support in this way and overruling it entirely. So the doctrine emerges maimed and enfeebled—in truth, zombified.

Respectfully, we owe our colleagues on the lower courts more candid and useful guidance than this. And judges owe the people who come before them nothing less than a fair contest, where every party has an equal chance to persuade the court of its interpretation of the law’s demands. One can hope that The Chief Justice is right, and that whether we formally overrule Auer or merely neuter it, the results in most cases will prove the same. But means, not just ends, matter, and retaining even this debilitated version of Auer threatens to force litigants and lower courts to jump through needless and perplexing new hoops and in the process deny the people the independent judicial decisions they deserve. All to what end? So that we may pretend to abide stare decisis?

Consider this case. Mr. Kisor is a Marine who lost out on benefits for post-traumatic stress disorder when the court of appeals deferred to a regulatory interpretation advanced by the Department of Veterans Affairs. The court of appeals was guilty of nothing more than faithfully following Auer. But the majority today invokes stare decisis, of all things, to vacate that judgment and tell the court of appeals to try again using its newly retooled, multi-factored, and far less determinate version of Auer. Respectfully, I would stop this business of making up excuses for judges to abdicate their job of interpreting the law, and simply allow the court of appeals to afford Mr. Kisor its best independent judgment of the law’s meaning.

The Court’s failure to be done with Auer, and its decision to adorn Auer with so many new and ambiguous limitations, all but guarantees we will have to pass this way again. When that day comes, I hope this Court will find the nerve it lacks today and inter Auer at last. Until then, I hope that our judicial colleagues on other courts will take courage from today’s ruling and realize that it has transformed Auer into a paper tiger.

I. How We Got Here

Where did Auer come from? Not from the Constitution, some ancient common law tradition, or even a modern statute. Instead, it began as an unexplained aside in a decision about emergency price controls at the height of the Second World War. Even then, the dictum sat on the shelf, little noticed, for years. Only in the last few decades of the 20th century did lawyers and courts really begin to dust it off and shape it into the reflexive rule of deference to regulatory agencies we know today. And they did so without ever pausing to consider whether a rule like that could be legally justified or even made sense. Auer is really little more than an accident.

A

Before the mid-20th century, few federal agencies engaged in extensive rulemaking, and those that did rarely sought deference for their regulatory interpretations.[3] But when the question arose, this Court did not hesitate to say that judges reviewing administrative action should decide all questions of law, including questions concerning the meaning of regulations. As Justice Brandeis put it, “[t]he inexorable safeguard which the due process clause assures is . . . that there will be opportunity for a court to determine whether the applicable rules of law . . . were observed.”[4] Unsurprisingly, the government’s early, longstanding, and consistent interpretation of a statute, regulation, or other legal instrument could count as powerful evidence of its original public meaning.[5] But courts respected executive interpretations only because and to the extent “they embodied understandings made roughly contemporaneously with . . . enactment and stably maintained and practiced since that time,” not “because they were executive as such.”[6]

Writing for four Members of the Court, Justice Kagan suggests that Auer’s very different approach to the interpretation of agency regulations was foreshadowed as early as this Court’s 1898 decision in United States v. Eaton.[7] Ante, at 7. But this is mistaken. The question in that case was whether Mr. Eaton’s appointment as temporary vice-consul to Siam was consistent with State Department regulations. After several pages of careful and independent legal analysis, the Court held that the regulations did authorize the appointment. That conclusion, the Court explained, was “rendered necessary by a consideration of the text.”[8] Only after reaching this conclusion did the Court observe that the State Department had previously adopted the same construction, noting along the way that the Department’s views were “entitled to the greatest weight” and that the Court saw “no reason in this case to doubt [their] correctness.”[9] Eaton thus simply followed the well-worn path of acknowledging that an agency’s interpretation of a regulation can supply evidence of its meaning.[10] Nowhere did the Court even hint that it would have deferred to the State Department’s views about the meaning of the law if its own independent textual analysis had not led it to the same conclusion.

All this is borne out by the Court’s later teachings in Skidmore v. Swift & Co. in 1944.[11] The question there was whether the time overnight employees spent waiting to respond to fire alarms could amount to compensable overtime under the Fair Labor Standards Act. The lower courts had held as a matter of law that it could not. In an opinion by Justice Jackson, this Court reversed. The Court first held, based on its own independent analysis, that “no principle of law found either in the statute or in Court decisions precludes waiting time from also being working time.”[12] Only then did the Court consider “what, if any, deference courts should pay” to the views of the Administrator of the Labor Department’s Wage and Hour Division.[13] And on that question the Court reaffirmed the traditional rule that an agency’s interpretation of the law is “not controlling upon the courts” and is entitled only to a weight proportional to “the thoroughness evident in its consideration, the validity of its reasoning, its consistency with earlier and later pronouncements, and all those factors which give it power to persuade.”[14] At the time, the influential administrative law scholar Kenneth Culp Davis considered this “[a]n entirely reliable statement” of the law.[15]

B

In truth, the seeds of the Auer doctrine were first planted only in 1945, in Bowles v. Seminole Rock & Sand Co.[16] That case involved regulations issued by the Office of Price Administration (OPA), which Congress had tasked with stabilizing the national economy during the Second World War through the use of emergency price controls. It was in that context that the Court declared—for the first time and without citing any authority—that “if the meaning of [the regulation were] in doubt,” the agency’s interpretation would merit “controlling weight unless it is plainly erroneous or inconsistent with the regulation.”[17]

Yet even then it was far from clear how much weight the Court really placed on the agency’s interpretation. As it had in Eaton, the Court in Seminole Rock began with an extended discussion of “the plain words of the regulation,” which led it to conclude that the text “clearly” supported the government’s position.[18] Only after reaching that conclusion based on its own independent analysis did the Court proceed to add that “[a]ny doubts . . . are removed by reference to the administrative construction.”[19]

So confused was all this that readers at the time didn’t perceive Seminole Rock’s dictum as changing anything. Professor Davis observed that the Court’s discussion about giving “controlling weight” to the agency’s interpretation was an unexplained aside that made no difference to the case’s outcome.[20] The dictum, too, was readily explained as reflecting the unusual factual context in which the case arose, involving an emergency government program created to deal with “unique circumstances of war and economic depression.”[21] And the Court decided Seminole Rock the same Term it issued Skidmore, where it reaffirmed the traditional rule that an agency’s views about the law may persuade a court but can never control its judgment. In fact, the Court in Seminole Rock was careful to note that the OPA interpretation before it bore many of the characteristics Skidmore would have recognized as increasing its persuasive force: It had been announced concurrently with the regulation, disseminated widely to the regulated community, and adhered to consistently by the agency.[22]

No wonder, then, that for many years after the decision, courts “connected Seminole Rock more closely with the deference framework . . . under Skidmore” and generally engaged in a Skidmore-type analysis, accepting the agency’s interpretation “only after independently examining the regulation and concluding that the agency interpretation was sound.”[23] If Seminole Rock’s “controlling weight” dictum was afforded any force, it was usually only in the price control context; even then it was ordinarily extended only to “official” agency interpretations that were published contemporaneously with the regulation and widely distributed.[24] The Fourth Circuit exemplified the early understanding of Seminole Rock when it observed—citing both Seminole Rock and Skidmore—that “under settled principles” an official agency interpretation in an opinion letter was entitled only to “respectful consideration.”[25] The letter, the court stressed, did not “have the effect of law,” and “[i]t would be absurd to hold that the courts must subordinate their judgment as to the meaning of a . . . regulation to the mere unsupported opinion of an associate counsel in an administrative department.”[26]

C

This Court did not cite Seminole Rock’s “controlling weight” dictum again until 1965, in Udall v. Tallman.[27] And though Tallman “did very little to advance the jurisprudential understanding of Seminole Rock,” it certainly helped fuel the expansion of so-called “Seminole Rock deference.”[28] From the 1960s on, this Court and lower courts began to cite the Seminole Rock dictum with increasing frequency and in a wider variety of circumstances, but still without much explanation. They also increasingly divorced Seminole Rock from Skidmore.[29]

Auer represents the apotheosis of this line of cases. In the name of what some now call the Auer doctrine, courts have in recent years “mechanically applied and reflexively treated” Seminole Rock’s dictum “as a constraint upon the careful inquiry that one might ordinarily expect of courts engaged in textual analysis.”[30] Under Auer, judges are forced to subordinate their own views about what the law means to those of a political actor, one who may even be a party to the litigation before the court. After all, if the court agrees that the agency’s reading is the best one, Auer does no real work; the doctrine matters only when a court would conclude that the agency’s interpretation is not the best or fairest reading of the regulation.

To be sure, Justice Kagan paints a very different picture of Auer, asking us to imagine it riding to the rescue only in cases where the scales of justice are evenly balanced between two equally persuasive readings. But that’s a fantasy: “If nature knows of such equipoise in legal arguments, the courts at least do not.”[31] In the real world the judge uses his traditional interpretive toolkit, full of canons and tiebreaking rules, to reach a decision about the best and fairest reading of the law. Of course, there are close cases and reasonable judges will sometimes disagree. But every day, in courts throughout this country, judges manage with these traditional tools to reach conclusions about the meaning of statutes, rules of procedure, contracts, and the Constitution. Yet when it comes to interpreting federal regulations, Auer displaces this process and requires judges instead to treat the agency’s interpretation as controlling even when it is “not . . . the best one.”[32]

If that were not troubling enough, Auer has also become “a doctrine of uncertain scope and application.”[33] This Court has never offered meaningful guidance on how to decide whether the agency’s reading is “reasonable” enough to demand judicial deference—and lower courts have drawn that line in wildly different places.[34] Deepening the confusion, this Court and lower courts have, over time, tried to soften Auer’s rigidity by declaring that it “might” not apply in some ill-defined circumstances, such as when the agency’s interpretation “conflicts with a prior interpretation” or reflects a “convenient litigating position” or a “post hoc rationalization” for past agency action.[35] All this has resulted in “widespread confusion” about when and how to apply Auer deference.[36]

In light of Auer’s many problems, it should come as no surprise that several Members of this Court,[37] along with a great many lower court judges[38] and members of the legal academy,[39] have questioned Auer’s validity and pleaded with this Court to reconsider it.

D

That’s where things stood when James Kisor asked the Department of Veterans Affairs to reopen his disability benefits claim. Mr. Kisor served as a United States Marine from 1962 through 1966 and saw combat in Vietnam. In the early 1980s, a VA counselor observed that Mr. Kisor was battling depression and suicidal thoughts and suggested he might be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. In light of this, Mr. Kisor filed a claim for disability benefits in 1982. But, in the end, the VA denied the claim.

In 2006, Mr. Kisor sought to reopen the matter. In connection with that request, he presented new evidence, including a psychiatrist’s report diagnosing him with PTSD and additional records documenting his service in Vietnam. The VA reopened Mr. Kisor’s claim and granted him disability benefits effective June 5, 2006, the date he had submitted his new request. Mr. Kisor argued that a VA regulation entitled him to an earlier effective date for disability benefits, one tracing back to his original submission in 1982. But the Board of Veterans Appeals concluded that the applicable regulation didn’t authorize that relief.

Mr. Kisor appealed the Board’s ruling all the way to the Federal Circuit, arguing that the Board had misinterpreted the relevant regulation. The Federal Circuit affirmed. Relying on the Auer doctrine, the court held that it had no choice but to treat the Board’s interpretation as “ ‘controlling’ ” unless that interpretation was “ ‘plainly erroneous or inconsistent with the regulatio[n].’ ”[40] Without even trying to determine who had the better reading of the regulation, the Board or Mr. Kisor, the court declared that “[t]he Board’s interpretation does not strike us as either plainly erroneous or inconsistent with the VA’s regulatory framework.”[41] Case closed.

Mr. Kisor sought and was denied rehearing en banc. Three judges dissented and joined those who have questioned “the logic behind continued adherence to the [Auer] doctrine”; they argued that, without Auer deference, Mr. Kisor’s reading of the regulation would likely prevail.[42] Mr. Kisor then asked us to grant certiorari to reconsider Auer. Thinking it past time to do so, we granted the petition.[43]

II. The Administrative Procedure Act

When this Court speaks about the rules governing judicial review of federal agency action, we are not (or shouldn’t be) writing on a blank slate or exercising some common-law-making power. We are supposed to be applying the Administrative Procedure Act. The APA is a “seminal” statute that Congress wrote to define the relationship between courts and agencies.[44] Some have even described it as a kind of constitution for our “administrative state.” Yet, remarkably, until today this Court has never made any serious effort to square the Auer doctrine with the APA. Even now, only four Justices make the attempt. And for at least two reasons, their arguments are wholly unpersuasive.

A

The first problem lies in §706. That provision instructs reviewing courts to “decide all relevant questions of law” and “set aside agency action . . . found to be . . . not in accordance with law.”[45] Determining the meaning of a statute or regulation, of course, presents a classic legal question. But in case these directives were not clear enough, the APA further directs courts to “determine the meaning” of any relevant “agency action,” including any rule issued by the agency.[46] The APA thus requires a reviewing court to resolve for itself any dispute over the proper interpretation of an agency regulation. A court that, in deference to an agency, adopts something other than the best reading of a regulation isn’t “decid[ing]” the relevant “questio[n] of law” or “determin[ing] the meaning” of the regulation. Instead, it’s allowing the agency to dictate the answer to that question. In doing so, the court is abdicating the duty Congress assigned to it in the APA.[47]

Justice Kagan seeks to address the glaring inconsistency between our judge-made rule and the controlling statute this way. On her account, the APA tells a reviewing court to “determine the meaning” of regulations, but it does not tell the court “how” to do that. Thus, we are told, reading the regulation for itself and deferring to the agency’s reading are just two equally valid ways for a court to fulfill its statutory duty to “determine the meaning” of the regulation. Ante, at 20–21.

But the APA isn’t as anemic as that. Its unqualified command requires the court to determine legal questions—including questions about a regulation’s meaning—by its own lights, not by those of political appointees or bureaucrats who may even be self-interested litigants in the case at hand. Nor can there be any doubt that, when Congress wrote the APA, it knew perfectly well how to require judicial deference to an agency when it wished—in fact, Congress repeatedly specified deferential standards for judicial review elsewhere in the statute.[48] But when it comes to the business of interpreting regulations, no such command exists; instead, Congress told courts to “determine” those matters for themselves. Though one hardly needs to be an academic to recognize the point, “commentators in administrative law have ‘generally acknowledged’ that Section 706 seems to require de novo review on questions of law.”[49]

What the statutory language suggests, experience confirms. If Auer deference were really just another way for courts to “determine the meaning” of regulations under §706, you might expect that a final judicial “determination” would at least settle, as a matter of precedent, the question of what the regulation “means.” Of course, even after one court has spoken on a regulation’s meaning, that court or another might properly give weight to a new agency interpretation as part of the court’s own decision-making process. See supra, at 6. But in light of National Cable & Telecommunications Assn. v. Brand X Internet Services,[50] courts have interpreted Auer as forbidding a court from ever “determin[ing] the meaning” of a regulation with the force that normally attaches to precedent, because an agency is always free to adopt a different view and insist on judicial deference to its new judgment.[51] And if an agency can not only control the court’s initial decision but also revoke that decision at any time, how can anyone honestly say the court, rather than the agency, ever really “determine[s]” what the regulation means?

To test the point further, consider a statute that tells a court to “determin[e]” an appropriate sentence in a criminal case.[52] If the judge said he was sending a defendant to prison for longer than he believed appropriate only in deference to the government’s “reasonable” sentencing recommendation, would anyone really think that complied with the law? Or take a statute that instructs a court to “determine” whether a consent judgment proposed by the government in a civil antitrust case “is in the public interest.”[53] If a court thought the proposed judgment harmful to the public but decided to defer to the government’s “reasonable” contrary view anyway, would anyone suggest the court had complied with Congress’s instruction?

Nor does Justice Kagan’s reading of §706 offer any logical stopping point. If courts can “determine the meaning” of a regulation by deferring to any “reasonable” agency reading, then why not by deferring to any agency reading? If it were really true that the APA has nothing to say about how courts decide what regulations mean, then it would follow that the APA tolerates a rule that “the agency is always right.” And if you find yourself in a place as absurd as that, you might want to consider whether you’ve taken a wrong turn along the way.

B

The problems don’t end there. Auer is also incompatible with the APA’s instructions in §553. That provision requires agencies to follow notice-and-comment procedures when issuing or amending legally binding regulations (what the APA calls “substantive rules”), but not when offering mere interpretations of those regulations.[54] An agency wishing to adopt or amend a binding regulation thus must publish a proposal in the Federal Register, give interested members of the public an opportunity to submit written comments on the proposal, and consider those comments before issuing the final regulation. Under the APA, that regulation then carries the force of law unless and until it is amended or repealed.[55] By contrast, an agency can announce an interpretation of an existing substantive regulation without advance warning and in pretty much whatever form it chooses.

Auer effectively nullifies the distinction Congress drew here. Under Auer, courts must treat as “controlling” not only an agency’s duly promulgated rules but also its mere interpretations—even ones that appear only in a legal brief, press release, or guidance document issued without affording the public advance notice or a chance to comment. For all practical purposes, “the new interpretation might as well be a new regulation.”[56] Auer thus oblit- erates a distinction Congress thought vital and supplies agencies with a shortcut around the APA’s required procedures for issuing and amending substantive rules that bind the public with the full force and effect of law.[57]

Think of it this way. We’ve held that the Constitution’s specification of a “single, finely wrought” procedure for the enactment of statutes (bicameralism and presentment) necessarily implies that Congress cannot amend an enacted statute without following that procedure—say, by allowing a single House to change what the law requires.[58] By the same logic, Congress’s specification in the APA of procedures for the creation of new substantive rules (like notice and comment) necessarily implies that an agency cannot amend a substantive rule without following those procedures. To hold otherwise, as Auer demands, subverts the APA’s design.

Certain amici contend this argument is “out of place” in this particular case because the VA happened to issue the interpretation challenged here in an adjudicative proceeding.[59] But the premise on which they proceed—that the APA permits agencies to issue “controlling” amendments to their regulations in adjudicative proceedings—is not correct. Once an agency issues a substantive rule through notice and comment, it can amend that rule only by following the same notice-and-comment procedures.[60] Whether an agency issues its interpretation in a press release or something it chooses to call an “adjudication,” all we have is the agency’s opinion about what an existing rule means, something that the APA tells us is not binding in a court of law or on the American people.

If that won’t work, Justice Kagan tries an alternative argument from nearly the opposite direction. She replies that affording Auer deference to an agency’s interpretation of its own rules never offends the APA because the agency’s interpretation lacks “the force of law” associated with substantive rules. Agency interpretations lack this force, we are told, because a court always retains the power to decide at least whether the interpretation is entitled to deference. Ante, at 22–23. But this argument rests on an implausibly narrow understanding of what it means for an agency action to bear the force of law. Under Justice Kagan’s logic, even a binding substantive rule would lack the force of law because a court retains the power to decide whether the rule is arbitrary and capricious and thus invalid under the APA. But no one believes that. While an agency interpretation, just like a substantive rule, “must meet certain conditions before it gets deference,” “once it does so [Auer makes it] every bit as binding as a substantive rule.”[61] To suggest that Auer does not make an agency’s interpretive guidance “binding o[n] anyone,” ante, at 23, is linguistic hocus-pocus.

C

If Auer cannot be squared with the text of the APA, Justice Kagan suggests it at least conforms to a reason- able “presumption about congressional intent.” Ante, at 7. The theory seems to be that whenever Congress grants an agency “rulemaking power,” it also implicitly gives the agency “ ‘the power authoritatively to interpret’ ” whatever rules the agency chooses to adopt. Ante, at 8. But against the clear statutory commands Congress gave us in the APA, what sense does it make to “presume” that Congress really, secretly, wanted courts to treat agency interpretations as binding? Normally, this Court does not allow hidden legislative intentions to “muddy” such plainly expressed statutory directives.[62]

Even on its own terms, too, this argument proves pretty muddy. It goes something like this: The drafters of the APA did not intend to “ ‘significantly alter’ ” established law governing judicial review of agency action as of 1946; the Auer doctrine was part of that established law; therefore, the APA implicitly requires courts to afford agencies Auer deference. Ante, at 21–22. But neither of this syllogism’s essential premises stands on solid ground.

Take the major premise—that those who adopted the APA intended to work no change in the established law of judicial review of agency action. Justice Kagan is right, of course, that Attorney General Clark claimed as much shortly after the APA’s passage. Ante, at 21. But his view, which reflected the interests of the executive branch, was far from universally shared. Others, including many members of Congress, thought the APA would clarify, if not expand, the scope of judicial review. For example, Senator McCarran, the Chairman of the Judiciary Committee, wrote that it would be “hard . . . for anyone to argue that this Act did anything other than cut down the ‘cult of discretion’ so far as federal law is concerned.”[63] And both the House and Senate reports on the APA said it was intended to “provid[e] that questions of law are for courts rather than agencies to decide in the last analysis.”[64]

Just five years after the APA’s passage, this Court seemed to side with those who thought the APA was intended to do more than just summarize existing law. In an opinion by Justice Frankfurter, the Court opined that the APA required courts to assume “more responsibility” for reviewing agency decisions “than some courts ha[d] shown in the past.”[65] One early commentator likewise observed that the APA seemed designed to eliminate all doubt that questions of law “shall be decided by the reviewing Court for itself, and in the exercise of its own independent judgment”; “[m]ore explicit words to impose this mandate,” he thought, “could hardly be found.”[66]

Justice Kagan’s syllogism runs into even more trouble with its minor premise—that the Auer doctrine was a well-established part of the common law background when Congress enacted the APA in 1946. As we’ve seen, this Court planted the seeds of Auer deference for the first time in dictum in Seminole Rock, just a year before Congress passed the APA. See Part I–B, supra. And that dictum did not somehow immediately become an entrenched part of the common law: For years following Seminole Rock, courts and “commentators largely ignored” it,[67] and those who took notice weren’t sure what to make of it. Professor Davis, for example, doubted that the dictum could be “taken at face value” given that it seemed “irreconcilable” with the Court’s approach in other cases.[68] In truth, when Congress passed the APA the law of judicial review of agency action was in a confused state. During the congressional hearings on the bill, one witness’s suggestion that Congress should leave the scope of judicial review “as it now is” drew this fair reply from Representative Walter, chairman of the House Subcommittee on Administrative Law and author of the House Report on the APA: “You say ‘as it now is.’ Frankly, I do not know what it now is . . . . [T]he Supreme Court apparently changes its mind daily.”[69]

III. The Constitution

Not only is Auer incompatible with the APA; it also sits uneasily with the Constitution. Article III, §1 provides that the “judicial Power of the United States” is vested exclusively in this Court and the lower federal courts. A core component of that judicial power is “ ‘the duty of interpreting [the laws] and applying them in cases properly brought before the courts.’ ”[70] As Chief Justice Marshall put it, “[i]t is emphatically the province and duty of the judicial department to say what the law is.”[71] And never, this Court has warned, should the “judicial power . . . be shared with [the] Executive Branch.”[72] Yet that seems to be exactly what Auer requires.

A

Our Nation’s founders were painfully aware of the dangers of executive and legislative intrusion on judicial decision-making. One of the abuses of royal power that led to the American Revolution was King George’s attempt to gain influence over colonial judges.[73] Colonial legislatures, too, had interfered with the courts’ independence “at the behest of private interests and factions.”[74] These experiences had taught the founders that “ ‘there is no liberty if the power of judgment be not separated from the legislative and executive powers.’ ”[75] They knew that when political actors are left free not only to adopt and enforce written laws, but also to control the interpretation of those laws, the legal rights of “litigants with unpopular or minority causes or . . . who belong to despised or suspect classes” count for little.[76] Maybe the powerful, well-heeled, popular, and connected can wheedle favorable outcomes from a system like that—but what about everyone else? They are left always a little unsure what the law is, at the mercy of political actors and the shifting winds of popular opinion, and without the chance for a fair hearing before a neutral judge. The rule of law begins to bleed into the rule of men.

Experiencing all this in their own time, the founders sought to ensure that those who came after them would not. Believing that “[n]o maxim was better established” than “that the power of making ought to be kept distinct from that of expounding, the laws,”[77] they designed a judiciary that would be able to interpret the laws “free from potential domination by other branches of government.”[78] To that end, they resisted proposals that would have subjected judicial decisions to review by political actors.[79] And they rejected the British tradition of using the upper house of the legislature as a court of last resort, out of fear that a body with “even a partial agency in passing bad laws” would operate under the “same spirit” in “interpreting them.”[80] Instead, they gave federal judges life tenure, subject only to removal by impeachment; and they guaranteed that the other branches could not reduce judges’ compensation so long as they remained in office.

The founders afforded these extraordinary powers and protections not for the comfort of judges, but so that an independent judiciary could better guard the people from the arbitrary use of governmental power. And sitting atop the judicial branch, this Court has always carried a special duty to “jealously guar[d]” the Constitution’s promise of judicial independence.[81] So we have long resisted any effort by the other branches to “ ‘usurp a court’s power to interpret and apply the law to the circumstances before it.’ ”[82] The judicial power to interpret the law, this Court has held, “can no more be shared with another branch than the Chief Executive, for example, can share with the Judiciary the veto power, or the Congress share with the Judiciary the power to override a Presidential veto.”[83]

Auer represents no trivial threat to these foundational principles. Under the APA, substantive rules issued by federal agencies through notice-and-comment procedures bear “the ‘force and effect of law’ ”[84] and are part of the body of federal law, binding on private individuals, that the Constitution charges federal judges with interpreting. Yet Auer tells the judge that he must interpret these binding laws to mean not what he thinks they mean, but what an executive agency says they mean. Unlike Article III judges, executive officials are not, nor are they supposed to be, “wholly impartial.”[85] They have their own interests, their own constituencies, and their own policy goals—and when interpreting a regulation, they may choose to “press the case for the side [they] represen[t]” instead of adopting the fairest and best reading.[86] Auer thus means that, far from being “kept distinct,” the powers of making, enforcing, and interpreting laws are united in the same hands—and in the process a cornerstone of the rule of law is compromised.

Consider an analogy. The Court has long held that Congress cannot “ ‘indirectly control the action of the courts, by requiring of them a construction of the law according to its own views.’ ”[87] If Congress disagrees with how courts are interpreting an existing statute, it is free to amend the statute to establish a different rule going forward. What it cannot do is issue “a mandate . . . to compel the courts to construe and apply [existing law], not according to the judicial, but according to the legislative judgment.”[88] As early as 1804, when a lawyer argued before this Court that an Act of the North Carolina legislature could not control the Court’s construction of an earlier North Carolina statute because “[t]o declare what the law is, or has been, is a judicial power,” not a legislative power, the Court stopped him, deeming the point too plain for argument.[89]

But if the legislature can’t control a judge’s interpretation of an existing statute, how can an executive agency control a judge’s interpretation of an existing and equally binding regulation? Auer allows an agency to do exactly what this Court has always said a legislature cannot do: “compel the courts to construe and apply” a law on the books, “not according to the judicial . . . judgment,” but according to the judgment of another branch.[90] When we defer to an agency interpretation that differs from what we believe to be the best interpretation of the law, we compromise our judicial independence and deny the people who come before us the impartial judgment that the Constitution guarantees them. And we mislead those whom we serve by placing a judicial imprimatur on what is, in fact, no more than an exercise of raw political executive power.[91]

B

What do our colleagues have to say about these concerns? A majority has nothing to offer, and Justice Kagan dismisses them out of hand. In fact, she barely mentions the Constitution, other than to assure us that Auer does not allow agencies to “usur[p] the interpretive role of courts” because “courts retain a firm grip on the interpretive function” through their ability to decide whether Auer deference applies. Ante, at 25. But that is no assurance at all. The judicial power has always been understood to provide the people with a neutral arbiter who bears the responsibility and duty to “expound and interpret” the governing law, not just the power to say whether someone else’s interpretation, let alone the interpretation of a self-interested political actor, is “reasonable.”[92]

To be sure, it’s conceivable that Congress might seek to limit the ability of judges to remedy an adverse agency action. It might, for example, provide that a court shall have power to set aside agency action pursuant to a regulation only if the action was based on an unreasonable interpretation of the regulation. But even assuming the constitutionality of a hypothetical statute like that, Auer is different. It does not limit the scope of the judicial power; instead, it seeks to coopt the judicial power by requiring an Article III judge to decide a case before him according to principles that he believes do not accurately reflect the law. Under Auer, a judge is required to lay aside his independent judgment and declare affirmatively that a regulation means what the agency says it means—and, thus, that the law is what the agency says it is. Then the judge is compelled to exercise his judicial authority to adjust private rights and obligations based on the agency’s (mis)understanding of the law. If Auer were a statute, it would not be an exercise of Congress’s “power (within limits) to tell the courts what classes of cases they may decide,” or what relief they may supply, but a forbidden attempt “to prescribe or superintend how they decide those cases.”[93] And in the absence of any statute like that, this Court surely should not so freely give away to the executive branch its assigned responsibility to interpret the laws. “Abdication of responsibility is not part of the constitutional design.”[94]

In the end, Justice Kagan’s only real reply is this: However misguided it may be to hand over our interpretive powers to executive agencies, at least there isn’t a mountain of empirical evidence showing that agencies have used this power to deliberately write “vague and open-ended” regulations to maximize their interpretive leeway. Ante, at 24. But even this misses the point. Whether or not regulations are “ ‘designed’ ” to be vague, ibid., many can be read in different ways, especially when new and unanticipated applications arise; cases like that come before the courts all the time. Without Auer’s shadow hanging over them, parties would receive a fair hearing before an impartial judge. The agency’s interpretation would sometimes be rejected; and that, in turn, might lead it to solicit public comment on possible amendments to the regulation, which would provide an opportunity for public input that might produce better policy. But with Auer, there is no fair hearing and no need for the agency to amend the regulation through notice and comment. Whether purposeful or not, the agency’s failure to write a clear regulation winds up increasing its power, allowing it to both write and interpret rules that bear the force of law—in the process uniting powers the Constitution deliberately separated and denying the people their right to an independent judicial determination of the law’s meaning.

IV. Policy Arguments

Lacking support elsewhere, Justice Kagan is forced to resort to policy arguments to defend Auer. But even the most sensible policy argument would not empower us to ignore the plain language of the APA or the demands of the Constitution. And as we’ve seen, those documents reflect a very different “policy” judgment by the people and their representatives. Besides, the policy argu- ments offered today are not just unpersuasive, they are troubling.

Take the first and boldest offering. Justice Kagan suggests that determining the meaning of a regulation is largely a matter of figuring out what the “person who wrote it . . . intended.” Ante, at 8. In this way, we’re told, a legally binding regulation isn’t all that different from “a memo or an e-mail”—if you “[w]ant to know what [it] means,” you’d better “[a]sk its author.” Ante, at 8–9. But the federal government’s substantive rules are not like memos or e-mails; they are binding edicts that carry the force of law for all citizens. And if the rule of law means anything, it means that we are governed by the public meaning of the words found in statutes and regulations, not by their authors’ private intentions. This is a vital part of what it means to have “a government of laws, and not of men.”[95] When judges interpret a regulation, what we are trying to get at, as Justice Holmes explained long ago, is not the “particular intent” of those who wrote it, but “what [its] words would mean [to] a normal speaker of English . . . in the circumstances in which they were used.”[96] If the best reading of the regulation turns out to be something other than what the agency claims to have intended, the agency is free to rewrite the regulation; but its secret intentions are not the law.

Nor does Justice Kagan’s account of the interpretive process even wind up supporting Auer. If a court’s goal in interpreting a regulation really were to determine what its author “intended,” Auer would be an almost complete mismatch with the goal. Agency personnel change over time, and an agency’s policy priorities may shift dramatically from one presidential administration to another. Yet Auer tells courts that they must defer to the agency’s current view of what the regulation ought to mean, which may or may not correspond to the views of those who actually wrote it. If interpreting a regulation really were just like reading an e-mail, Auer would be like seeking guidance about the e-mail’s meaning, years or decades later, from the latest user of the computer from which the e-mail was sent. We’ve repeatedly rejected that approach in the context of statutory interpretation. While Members of this Court sometimes disagree about the usefulness of pre-enactment legislative history, we all agree that legislators’ statements about the meaning of an already-enacted statute are not “a legitimate tool of statutory interpretation,’ ” much less a controlling one.[97] So why on earth would we give “controlling weight” to an agency’s statements about the meaning of an already-promulgated regulation?

Proceeding farther down this doubtful path, Justice Kagan asserts that resolving ambiguities in a regulation “sounds more in policy than in law” and is thus a task more suited to executive officials than judges. Ante, at 9. But this claim, too, contradicts a basic premise of our legal order: that we are governed not by the shifting whims of politicians and bureaucrats, but by written laws whose meaning is fixed and ascertainable—if not by all members of the public, then at least by lawyers who can advise them and judges who must apply the law to individual cases guided by the neutral principles found in our traditional tools of interpretation. The text of the regulation is treated as the law, and the agency’s policy judgment has the force of law only insofar as it is embodied in the regulatory text. If “new issues demanding new policy calls” arise that aren’t addressed in existing regulations, ante, at 10, the solution is for the agency to promulgate new regulations using the notice-and-comment procedures set forth in the APA. But an agency has no warrant to compel judges to change the law to conform with the agency’s current policy preferences.

To be sure, during the period of Auer’s ascendancy some suggested that the meaning of written law is always “radically indeterminate” and that judges expounding it are “for the most part, guided by policy—not text.”[98] And in an environment like that it was perhaps thought a small step to conclude that, if legal disputes are going to be resolved on political grounds, then they ought to be resolved by real politicians in the executive branch rather than ersatz politicians on the bench. But the proposed cure proved worse than the disease. Arguments like these surrendered the judgment embodied in our Constitution and the APA that courts owe the people they serve their independent legal judgment about the law’s meaning. Besides, we’ve long since come to realize that the real cure doesn’t lie in turning judges into rubber stamps for politicians, but in redirecting the judge’s interpretive task back to its roots, away from open-ended policy appeals and speculation about legislative intentions and toward the traditional tools of interpretation judges have employed for centuries to elucidate the law’s original public meaning. Today it is even said that we judges are, to one degree or another, “all textualists now.”[99]

Pursuing a more modest tack, Justice Kagan next suggests that Auer is justified by the respect due agencies’ “technical” expertise. Ante, at 10. But no one doubts that courts should pay close attention to an expert agency’s views on technical questions in its field. Just as a court “would want to know what John Henry Wigmore said about an issue of evidence law [or] what Arthur Corbin thought about a matter of contract law,” so too should courts carefully consider what the Food and Drug Administration thinks about how its prescription drug safety regulations operate.[100] The fact remains, however, that even agency experts “can be wrong; even Homer nodded.”[101] Skidmore and the traditional approach it embodied recognized both of these facts of life long ago, explaining that, while courts should of course afford respectful consideration to the expert agency’s views, they must remain open to competing expert and other evidence supplied in an adversarial setting. Respect for an agency’s technical expertise demands no more.

Justice Kagan’s final policy argument is that Auer promotes “consistency” and “uniformity” in the interpretation of regulations. Ante, at 10–11. If we let courts decide what regulations mean, she warns, they might disagree, and it might take some time for higher courts to resolve those disagreements. But consistency and uniformity are hardly grounds on which Auer’s advocates should wish to fight. The judicial process is how we settle disputes about the meaning of written law, and our judicial system is more than capable of producing a single, uniform, and stable interpretation that will last until the regulation is amended or repealed. Meanwhile, under Auer courts often disagree about whether deference is warranted, see supra, at 10–11, and a regulation’s “meaning” can be transformed with the stroke of a pen any time there is a new presidential administration. “Consistency,” “uniformity,” and stability in the law are hardly among Auer’s crowning achievements.

V. Stare Decisis

In the end, a majority declines to endorse Justice Kagan’s arguments and insists only that, even if Auer is not “right and well-reasoned,” we’re stuck with it because of the respect due precedent. Ante, at 27.

But notice: While pretending to bow to stare decisis, the majority goes about reshaping our precedent in new and experimental ways. True, the majority admits, this Court has in the past accorded Auer deference “ ‘reflexive[ly],’ ” “without significant analysis of the underlying regulation” or “careful attention to [its] nature and context,” and encouraged lower courts to do the same. Ante, at 12–13. But no more. From now on, the majority says, not only must judges “exhaust all the ‘traditional tools’ of construction” to decide whether the agency’s interpretation is “reasonable,” they must also make “an independent inquiry into whether the character and context of the agency interpretation” justifies deference. Ante, at 13–15. The majority candidly admits that it finds it impossible to “reduce” this new inquiry “to any exhaustive test,” so it settles for laying out some “markers.” Ante, at 15. What are the markers? We are told that courts should often—but not always—withhold deference from an interpretation offered by mid-level agency staff; often—but not always—withhold deference from a nontechnical, “prosaic-seeming” interpretation; often—but not always—withhold deference from an interpretation advanced for the first time in an amicus brief; and often—but not always—withhold deference from an interpretation that conflicts with an earlier one. See ante, at 15–18. The only certainty in all this is that the majority isn’t really much moved by stare decisis; everyone recognizes, to one degree or another, that Auer cannot stand. And between our remaining choices—continuing to make up new deference rules, or returning to the text of the APA and the approach to judicial review that prevailed for most of our history—the answer should have been easy.

A

There are serious questions about whether stare decisis should apply here at all. To be sure, Auer’s narrow holding about the meaning of the regulation at issue in that case may be entitled to stare decisis effect. The same may be true for the specific holdings in other cases where this Court has applied Auer deference. But does stare decisis extend beyond those discrete holdings and bind future Members of this Court to apply Auer’s broader deference framework?

It seems doubtful that stare decisis demands that much. We are not dealing with a precedent that purported to settle the meaning of a single statute or regulation or resolve a particular case. The Auer doctrine claims to do much more than that—to prescribe an interpretive methodology governing every future dispute over the meaning of every regulation. In other contexts, we do not regard statements in our opinions about such generally applicable interpretive methods, like the proper weight to afford historical practice in constitutional cases or legislative history in statutory cases, as binding future Justices with the full force of horizontal stare decisis.[102] Why, then, should we regard as binding Auer’s statements about the weight to afford agencies’ interpretations in regulatory cases? To the extent Auer purports to dictate “the interpretive inferences that future Justices must draw in construing statutes and regulations that the Court has never engaged,” it may well “exceed the limits of stare decisis.”[103]

Even if our past expressions of support for Auer deference bear some precedential force, they certainly are not entitled (as the majority suggests, ante, at 26–27) to the special, heightened form of stare decisis we reserve for narrow statutory decisions. In contrast to precedents that fix the meaning of particular statutes and generate reliance interests in the process, the Auer doctrine is an abstract default rule of interpretive methodology that settles nothing of its own force. And this Court has recognized that it is “inconsistent with the Court’s proper role” to insist that Congress exercise its legislative power to overturn such erroneous and judicially invented “default rule[s].”[104] That should be especially so here because Auer’s default rule undermines judicial independence, which this Court has a special responsibility to defend.

Nor is it entirely clear that Congress could overturn the Auer doctrine legislatively. The majority describes Auer as a “presumption” about how courts should interpret statutes granting rulemaking power to agencies. Ante, at 12. Congress can, of course, rebut the presumption on a statute-by-statute basis, or even for all past statutes. But can Congress eliminate the Auer presumption for future statutes? Perhaps—but legislation like that would raise questions, which the majority does not address, about the ability of one Congress to entrench its preferences by attempting to control the interpretation of legislation enacted by future Congresses.[105] We should not be in the business of tossing “ ‘balls . . . into Congress’s court,’ ” ante, at 27, that would explode with constitutional questions if Congress tried to pick them up.

B

Even assuming for argument’s sake that standard stare decisis considerations apply, they still do not require us to retain Auer. Even the majority implicitly recognizes this much, as it proceeds to vacate a lower court judgment that faithfully applied Auer and instruct that court to try again using the majority’s new directions. If stare decisis allows us so freely to remodel Auer, it’s hard to see on what account it might require us to retain it.

We do not lightly overturn precedents, and we seek always to honor the thoughtful guidance of those who have preceded us. At the same time, everyone agrees that stare decisis is not an “ ‘inexorable command,’ ”[106] and this Court should not always remain bound to decisions whose “rationale no longer withstands ‘careful analysis.’ ”[107] Recognizing the need for balance in this area, the Court has, over time, fashioned principles to guide our treatment of precedent. Those principles call on us to consider factors such as “the quality of [the precedent’s] reasoning, the workability of the rule it established, its consistency with other related decisions, developments since the decision was handed down, and reliance on the decision.”[108] As applied to Auer, all of these considerations weigh strongly in favor of bidding farewell to the doctrine rather than keeping it on life support.

First, we’ve already seen that no persuasive rationale supports Auer. From its humble origins as an unexplained bit of dictum in a wartime case about emergency price controls, the Auer doctrine evolved into a rigid rule of deference—all without any serious attempt by this Court to rationalize it or reconcile it with the APA, the Constitution, or traditional modes of judicial review. See Part I, supra. Even its fiercest defenders acknowledge that “Auer deference has not remained static over time” and urge the Court to continue to “shape” and “refin[e]” the doctrine.[109] Today’s decision attempts just such a “refinement” by hedging Auer with new qualifications and limitations. See ante, at 11–18. This shifting ground “undermin[es] the force of stare decisis.”[110]

Second, today’s ruling all but admits that Auer has not proved to be a workable standard. Even before this latest overhaul, uncertainty surrounding Auer’s scope and application had caused many to question whether there was any “practical benefit” in continuing to apply Auer “rather than a less deferential but more flexible and open-ended standard like Skidmore.”[111] See supra, at 10–11. Nor does the majority’s kinder, gentler version of Auer promise to solve the problem. On the contrary, its newly mandated inquiry into the “character and context of the agency interpretation,” which it admits cannot be reduced “to any exhaustive test,” ante, at 15, seems destined only to compound the confusion. See supra, at 35. Many words come to mind to describe the tasks we assign lower court judges today, but “workable” is not among them.

Third, the Auer doctrine is, as we have also already seen, out of step with how courts normally interpret written laws. When we interpret a regulation, we typically (at least when there is no agency say-so) proceed in the same way we would when interpreting any other written law: We “begin our interpretation of the regulation with its text” and, if the text is unclear, we “turn to other canons of interpretation” and tie-breaking rules to resolve the ambiguity.[112] And when we interpret an ambiguous statute, we never ask what current members of Congress think it means; in fact, we’ve held unanimously that legislators’ post-enactment views about a statute’s meaning are not even a “ ‘legitimate tool of statutory interpretation.’ ”[113] Affording “controlling weight” to regulators’ post-promulgation views about the meaning of an ambiguous regulation is hard to square with these usual judicial practices.[114]

Fourth, the explosive growth of the administrative state over the last half-century has exacerbated Auer’s potential for mischief. When the Court first uttered its dictum in Seminole Rock, the administrative state was new and the APA was only a gleam in Congress’s eye. Even 20 years later, when the Court began reviving the Seminole Rock dictum and turning it into a new deference doctrine, it was not yet apparent how pervasive the administrative state would become in the lives of ordinary Americans. Now, in the 21st century, “[t]he administrative state wields vast power and touches almost every aspect of daily life.”[115] Among other things, it produces “ ‘reams of regulations’ ”[116]—so many that they dwarf the statutes enacted by Congress. As of 2018, the Code of Federal Regulations filled 242 volumes and was about 185,000 pages long, almost quadruple the length of the most recent edition of the U. S. Code.[117] And agencies add thousands more pages of regulations every year. Whether you think this administrative fecundity is a good or a bad thing, it surely means that the cost of continuing to deny citizens an impartial judicial hearing on the meaning of disputed regulations has increased dramatically since this Court started down this road.

Fifth, Auer has generated no serious reliance interests. The only parties that might have relied on Auer’s promise of deference are agencies that use post hoc interpretations to bypass the APA’s notice-and-comment procedures. But this Court has never suggested that the convenience of government officials should count in the balance of stare decisis, especially when weighed against the interests of citizens in a fair hearing before an independent judge and a stable and knowable set of laws. In short, “ ‘[t]he fact that [agencies] may view [Auer deference] as an entitlement does not establish the sort of reliance interest that could outweigh the countervailing interest’ ” of all citizens “ ‘in having their constitutional rights fully protected.’ ”[118]

Coming closer to the mark, the majority worries that “abandoning Auer deference would cast doubt on many settled constructions” of regulations on which regulated parties might have relied. Ante, at 26. But, again, decisions construing particular regulations might retain stare decisis effect even if the Court announced that it would no longer adhere to Auer’s interpretive methodology. After all, decisions construing particular statutes continue to command respect even when the interpretive methods that led to those constructions fall out of favor. Besides, if the majority is correct that abandoning Auer would require revisiting regulatory constructions that were upheld based on Auer deference, the majority’s revision of Auer will yield exactly the same result. There are innumerable lower court decisions that have followed this Court’s lead and afforded Auer deference mechanically, without conducting the inquiry the Court now holds is required. Today’s ruling casts no less doubt on the continuing validity of those decisions than we would if we simply moved on from Auer.

*

Overruling Auer would have taken us directly back to Skidmore, liberating courts to decide cases based on their independent judgment and “follow [the] agency’s [view] only to the extent it is persuasive.”[119] By contrast, the majority’s attempt to remodel Auer’s rule into a multi-step, multi-factor inquiry guarantees more uncertainty and much litigation. Proceeding in this convoluted way burdens our colleagues on the lower courts, who will have to spend time debating deference that they could have spent interpreting disputed regulations. It also continues to deny the people who come before us the neutral forum for their disputes that they rightly expect and deserve.

But this cloud may have a silver lining: The majority leaves Auer so riddled with holes that, when all is said and done, courts may find that it does not constrain their independent judgment any more than Skidmore. As reengineered, Auer requires courts to “exhaust all the ‘traditional tools’ of construction” before they even consider deferring to an agency. Ante, at 13–14. And those tools include all sorts of tie-breaking rules for resolving ambiguity even in the closest cases. Courts manage to make do with these tools in many other areas of the law, so one might hope they will hardly ever find them inadequate here. And if they do, they will now have to conduct a further inquiry that includes so few firm guides and so many cryptic “markers” that they will rarely, if ever, have to defer to an agency regulatory interpretation that differs from what they believe is the best and fairest reading.

But whatever happens, this case hardly promises to be this Court’s last word on Auer. If today’s opinion ends up reducing Auer to the role of a tin god—officious, but ultimately powerless—then a future Court should candidly admit as much and stop requiring litigants and lower courts to pay token homage to it. Alternatively, if Auer proves more resilient, this Court should reassert its responsibility to say what the law is and afford the people the neutral forum for their disputes that they expect and deserve.

SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES

_________________

Nos. 17–1618, 17–1623 and 18–107

_________________

GERALD LYNN BOSTOCK, PETITIONER

17–1618v.

CLAYTON COUNTY, GEORGIA

on writ of certiorari to the united states court of appeals for the eleventh circuit

ALTITUDE EXPRESS, INC., et al., PETITIONERS

17–1623v.

MELISSA ZARDA and William Allen Moore, Jr., co-independent executors of the ESTATE OF DONALD ZARDA

on writ of certiorari to the united states court of appeals for the second circuit

R.G. & G.R. HARRIS FUNERAL HOMES, INC., PETITIONER

18–107v.

EQUAL EMPLOYMENT OPPORTUNITY COMMISSION, et al.

on writ of certiorari to the united states court of appeals for the sixth circuit

[June 15, 2020]

Justice Gorsuch delivered the opinion of the Court.

Sometimes small gestures can have unexpected consequences. Major initiatives practically guarantee them. In our time, few pieces of federal legislation rank in significance with the Civil Rights Act of 1964. There, in Title VII, Congress outlawed discrimination in the workplace on the basis of race, color, religion, sex, or national origin. Today, we must decide whether an employer can fire someone simply for being homosexual or transgender. The answer is clear. An employer who fires an individual for being homosexual or transgender fires that person for traits or actions it would not have questioned in members of a different sex. Sex plays a necessary and undisguisable role in the decision, exactly what Title VII forbids.

Those who adopted the Civil Rights Act might not have anticipated their work would lead to this particular result. Likely, they weren’t thinking about many of the Act’s consequences that have become apparent over the years, including its prohibition against discrimination on the basis of motherhood or its ban on the sexual harassment of male employees. But the limits of the drafters’ imagination supply no reason to ignore the law’s demands. When the express terms of a statute give us one answer and extratextual considerations suggest another, it’s no contest. Only the written word is the law, and all persons are entitled to its benefit.

I

Few facts are needed to appreciate the legal question we face. Each of the three cases before us started the same way: An employer fired a long-time employee shortly after the employee revealed that he or she is homosexual or transgender—and allegedly for no reason other than the employee’s homosexuality or transgender status.

Gerald Bostock worked for Clayton County, Georgia, as a child welfare advocate. Under his leadership, the county won national awards for its work. After a decade with the county, Mr. Bostock began participating in a gay recreational softball league. Not long after that, influential members of the community allegedly made disparaging comments about Mr. Bostock’s sexual orientation and participation in the league. Soon, he was fired for conduct “unbecoming” a county employee.

Donald Zarda worked as a skydiving instructor at Altitude Express in New York. After several seasons with the company, Mr. Zarda mentioned that he was gay and, days later, was fired.

Aimee Stephens worked at R. G. & G. R. Harris Funeral Homes in Garden City, Michigan. When she got the job, Ms. Stephens presented as a male. But two years into her service with the company, she began treatment for despair and loneliness. Ultimately, clinicians diagnosed her with gender dysphoria and recommended that she begin living as a woman. In her sixth year with the company, Ms. Stephens wrote a letter to her employer explaining that she planned to “ live and work full-time as a woman” after she returned from an upcoming vacation. The funeral home fired her before she left, telling her “this is not going to work out.”

While these cases began the same way, they ended differently. Each employee brought suit under Title VII alleging unlawful discrimination on the basis of sex. 78Stat. 255, 42 U. S. C. §2000e–2(a)(1). In Mr. Bostock’s case, the Eleventh Circuit held that the law does not prohibit employers from firing employees for being gay and so his suit could be dismissed as a matter of law. 723 Fed. Appx. 964 (2018). Meanwhile, in Mr. Zarda’s case, the Second Circuit concluded that sexual orientation discrimination does violate Title VII and allowed his case to proceed. 883 F.3d 100 (2018). Ms. Stephens’s case has a more complex procedural history, but in the end the Sixth Circuit reached a decision along the same lines as the Second Circuit’s, holding that Title VII bars employers from firing employees because of their transgender status. 884 F.3d 560 (2018). During the course of the proceedings in these long-running disputes, both Mr. Zarda and Ms. Stephens have passed away. But their estates continue to press their causes for the benefit of their heirs. And we granted certiorari in these matters to resolve at last the disagreement among the courts of appeals over the scope of Title VII’s protections for homosexual and transgender persons. 587 U. S. ___ (2019).

II

This Court normally interprets a statute in accord with the ordinary public meaning of its terms at the time of its enactment. After all, only the words on the page constitute the law adopted by Congress and approved by the President. If judges could add to, remodel, update, or detract from old statutory terms inspired only by extratextual sources and our own imaginations, we would risk amending statutes outside the legislative process reserved for the people’s representatives. And we would deny the people the right to continue relying on the original meaning of the law they have counted on to settle their rights and obligations. See New Prime Inc. v. Oliveira, 586 U. S. ___, ___–___ (2019) (slip op., at 6–7).

With this in mind, our task is clear. We must determine the ordinary public meaning of Title VII’s command that it is “unlawful . . . for an employer to fail or refuse to hire or to discharge any individual, or otherwise to discriminate against any individual with respect to his compensation, terms, conditions, or privileges of employment, because of such individual’s race, color, religion, sex, or national origin.” §2000e–2(a)(1). To do so, we orient ourselves to the time of the statute’s adoption, here 1964, and begin by examining the key statutory terms in turn before assessing their impact on the cases at hand and then confirming our work against this Court’s precedents.

A

The only statutorily protected characteristic at issue in today’s cases is “sex”—and that is also the primary term in Title VII whose meaning the parties dispute. Appealing to roughly contemporaneous dictionaries, the employers say that, as used here, the term “sex” in 1964 referred to “status as either male or female [as] determined by reproductive biology.” The employees counter by submitting that, even in 1964, the term bore a broader scope, capturing more than anatomy and reaching at least some norms concerning gender identity and sexual orientation. But because nothing in our approach to these cases turns on the outcome of the parties’ debate, and because the employees concede the point for argument’s sake, we proceed on the assumption that “sex” signified what the employers suggest, referring only to biological distinctions between male and female.

Still, that’s just a starting point. The question isn’t just what “sex” meant, but what Title VII says about it. Most notably, the statute prohibits employers from taking certain actions “because of ” sex. And, as this Court has previously explained, “the ordinary meaning of ‘because of ’ is ‘by reason of ’ or ‘on account of.’ ” University of Tex. Southwestern Medical Center v. Nassar, 570 U.S. 338, 350 (2013) (citing Gross v. FBL Financial Services, Inc., 557 U.S. 167, 176 (2009); quotation altered). In the language of law, this means that Title VII’s “because of ” test incorporates the “ ‘simple’ ” and “traditional” standard of but-for causation. Nassar, 570 U. S., at 346, 360. That form of causation is established whenever a particular outcome would not have happened “but for” the purported cause. See Gross, 557 U. S., at 176. In other words, a but-for test directs us to change one thing at a time and see if the outcome changes. If it does, we have found a but-for cause.

This can be a sweeping standard. Often, events have multiple but-for causes. So, for example, if a car accident occurred both because the defendant ran a red light and because the plaintiff failed to signal his turn at the intersection, we might call each a but-for cause of the collision. Cf. Burrage v. United States, 571 U.S. 204, 211–212 (2014). When it comes to Title VII, the adoption of the traditional but-for causation standard means a defendant cannot avoid liability just by citing some other factor that contributed to its challenged employment decision. So long as the plaintiff ’s sex was one but-for cause of that decision, that is enough to trigger the law. See ibid.; Nassar, 570 U. S., at 350.

No doubt, Congress could have taken a more parsimonious approach. As it has in other statutes, it could have added “solely” to indicate that actions taken “because of ” the confluence of multiple factors do not violate the law. Cf. 11 U. S. C. §525; 16 U. S. C. §511. Or it could have written “primarily because of ” to indicate that the prohibited factor had to be the main cause of the defendant’s challenged employment decision. Cf. 22 U. S. C. §2688. But none of this is the law we have. If anything, Congress has moved in the opposite direction, supplementing Title VII in 1991 to allow a plaintiff to prevail merely by showing that a protected trait like sex was a “motivating factor” in a defendant’s challenged employment practice. Civil Rights Act of 1991, §107, 105Stat. 1075, codified at 42 U. S. C. §2000e–2(m). Under this more forgiving standard, liability can sometimes follow even if sex wasn’t a but-for cause of the employer’s challenged decision. Still, because nothing in our analysis depends on the motivating factor test, we focus on the more traditional but-for causation standard that continues to afford a viable, if no longer exclusive, path to relief under Title VII. §2000e–2(a)(1).

As sweeping as even the but-for causation standard can be, Title VII does not concern itself with everything that happens “because of ” sex. The statute imposes liability on employers only when they “fail or refuse to hire,” “discharge,” “or otherwise . . . discriminate against” someone because of a statutorily protected characteristic like sex. Ibid. The employers acknowledge that they discharged the plaintiffs in today’s cases, but assert that the statute’s list of verbs is qualified by the last item on it: “otherwise . . . discriminate against.” By virtue of the word otherwise, the employers suggest, Title VII concerns itself not with every discharge, only with those discharges that involve discrimination.

Accepting this point, too, for argument’s sake, the question becomes: What did “discriminate” mean in 1964? As it turns out, it meant then roughly what it means today: “To make a difference in treatment or favor (of one as compared with others).” Webster’s New International Dictionary 745 (2d ed. 1954). To “discriminate against” a person, then, would seem to mean treating that individual worse than others who are similarly situated. See Burlington N. & S. F. R. Co. v. White, 548 U.S. 53, 59 (2006). In so-called “disparate treatment” cases like today’s, this Court has also held that the difference in treatment based on sex must be intentional. See, e.g., Watson v. Fort Worth Bank & Trust, 487 U.S. 977, 986 (1988). So, taken together, an employer who intentionally treats a person worse because of sex—such as by firing the person for actions or attributes it would tolerate in an individual of another sex—discriminates against that person in violation of Title VII.

At first glance, another interpretation might seem possible. Discrimination sometimes involves “the act, practice, or an instance of discriminating categorically rather than individually.” Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary 326 (1975); see also post, at 27–28, n. 22 (Alito, J., dissenting). On that understanding, the statute would require us to consider the employer’s treatment of groups rather than individuals, to see how a policy affects one sex as a whole versus the other as a whole. That idea holds some intuitive appeal too. Maybe the law concerns itself simply with ensuring that employers don’t treat women generally less favorably than they do men. So how can we tell which sense, individual or group, “discriminate” carries in Title VII?

The statute answers that question directly. It tells us three times—including immediately after the words “discriminate against”—that our focus should be on individuals, not groups: Employers may not “fail or refuse to hire or . . . discharge any individual, or otherwise . . . discriminate against any individual with respect to his compensation, terms, conditions, or privileges of employment, because of such individual’s . . . sex.” §2000e–2(a)(1) (emphasis added). And the meaning of “individual” was as uncontroversial in 1964 as it is today: “A particular being as distinguished from a class, species, or collection.” Webster’s New International Dictionary, at 1267. Here, again, Congress could have written the law differently. It might have said that “it shall be an unlawful employment practice to prefer one sex to the other in hiring, firing, or the terms or conditions of employment.” It might have said that there should be no “sex discrimination,” perhaps implying a focus on differential treatment between the two sexes as groups. More narrowly still, it could have forbidden only “sexist policies” against women as a class. But, once again, that is not the law we have.

The consequences of the law’s focus on individuals rather than groups are anything but academic. Suppose an employer fires a woman for refusing his sexual advances. It’s no defense for the employer to note that, while he treated that individual woman worse than he would have treated a man, he gives preferential treatment to female employees overall. The employer is liable for treating this woman worse in part because of her sex. Nor is it a defense for an employer to say it discriminates against both men and women because of sex. This statute works to protect individuals of both sexes from discrimination, and does so equally. So an employer who fires a woman, Hannah, because she is insufficiently feminine and also fires a man, Bob, for being insufficiently masculine may treat men and women as groups more or less equally. But in both cases the employer fires an individual in part because of sex. Instead of avoiding Title VII exposure, this employer doubles it.

B

From the ordinary public meaning of the statute’s language at the time of the law’s adoption, a straightforward rule emerges: An employer violates Title VII when it intentionally fires an individual employee based in part on sex. It doesn’t matter if other factors besides the plaintiff ’s sex contributed to the decision. And it doesn’t matter if the employer treated women as a group the same when compared to men as a group. If the employer intentionally relies in part on an individual employee’s sex when deciding to discharge the employee—put differently, if changing the employee’s sex would have yielded a different choice by the employer—a statutory violation has occurred. Title VII’s message is “simple but momentous”: An individual employee’s sex is “not relevant to the selection, evaluation, or compensation of employees.” Price Waterhouse v. Hopkins, 490 U.S. 228, 239 (1989) (plurality opinion).

The statute’s message for our cases is equally simple and momentous: An individual’s homosexuality or transgender status is not relevant to employment decisions. That’s because it is impossible to discriminate against a person for being homosexual or transgender without discriminating against that individual based on sex. Consider, for example, an employer with two employees, both of whom are attracted to men. The two individuals are, to the employer’s mind, materially identical in all respects, except that one is a man and the other a woman. If the employer fires the male employee for no reason other than the fact he is attracted to men, the employer discriminates against him for traits or actions it tolerates in his female colleague. Put differently, the employer intentionally singles out an employee to fire based in part on the employee’s sex, and the affected employee’s sex is a but-for cause of his discharge. Or take an employer who fires a transgender person who was identified as a male at birth but who now identifies as a female. If the employer retains an otherwise identical employee who was identified as female at birth, the employer intentionally penalizes a person identified as male at birth for traits or actions that it tolerates in an employee identified as female at birth. Again, the individual employee’s sex plays an unmistakable and impermissible role in the discharge decision.

That distinguishes these cases from countless others where Title VII has nothing to say. Take an employer who fires a female employee for tardiness or incompetence or simply supporting the wrong sports team. Assuming the employer would not have tolerated the same trait in a man, Title VII stands silent. But unlike any of these other traits or actions, homosexuality and transgender status are inextricably bound up with sex. Not because homosexuality or transgender status are related to sex in some vague sense or because discrimination on these bases has some disparate impact on one sex or another, but because to discriminate on these grounds requires an employer to intentionally treat individual employees differently because of their sex.

Nor does it matter that, when an employer treats one employee worse because of that individual’s sex, other factors may contribute to the decision. Consider an employer with a policy of firing any woman he discovers to be a Yankees fan. Carrying out that rule because an employee is a woman and a fan of the Yankees is a firing “because of sex” if the employer would have tolerated the same allegiance in a male employee. Likewise here. When an employer fires an employee because she is homosexual or transgender, two causal factors may be in play—both the individual’s sex and something else (the sex to which the individual is attracted or with which the individual identifies). But Title VII doesn’t care. If an employer would not have discharged an employee but for that individual’s sex, the statute’s causation standard is met, and liability may attach.

Reframing the additional causes in today’s cases as additional intentions can do no more to insulate the employers from liability. Intentionally burning down a neighbor’s house is arson, even if the perpetrator’s ultimate intention (or motivation) is only to improve the view. No less, intentional discrimination based on sex violates Title VII, even if it is intended only as a means to achieving the employer’s ultimate goal of discriminating against homosexual or transgender employees. There is simply no escaping the role intent plays here: Just as sex is necessarily a but-for cause when an employer discriminates against homosexual or transgender employees, an employer who discriminates on these grounds inescapably intends to rely on sex in its decisionmaking. Imagine an employer who has a policy of firing any employee known to be homosexual. The employer hosts an office holiday party and invites employees to bring their spouses. A model employee arrives and introduces a manager to Susan, the employee’s wife. Will that employee be fired? If the policy works as the employer intends, the answer depends entirely on whether the model employee is a man or a woman. To be sure, that employer’s ultimate goal might be to discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation. But to achieve that purpose the employer must, along the way, intentionally treat an employee worse based in part on that individual’s sex.

An employer musters no better a defense by responding that it is equally happy to fire male and female employees who are homosexual or transgender. Title VII liability is not limited to employers who, through the sum of all of their employment actions, treat the class of men differently than the class of women. Instead, the law makes each instance of discriminating against an individual employee because of that individual’s sex an independent violation of Title VII. So just as an employer who fires both Hannah and Bob for failing to fulfill traditional sex stereotypes doubles rather than eliminates Title VII liability, an employer who fires both Hannah and Bob for being gay or transgender does the same.

At bottom, these cases involve no more than the straightforward application of legal terms with plain and settled meanings. For an employer to discriminate against employees for being homosexual or transgender, the employer must intentionally discriminate against individual men and women in part because of sex. That has always been prohibited by Title VII’s plain terms—and that “should be the end of the analysis.” 883 F. 3d, at 135 (Cabranes, J., concurring in judgment).

C

If more support for our conclusion were required, there’s no need to look far. All that the statute’s plain terms suggest, this Court’s cases have already confirmed. Consider three of our leading precedents.

In Phillips v. Martin Marietta Corp., 400 U.S. 542 (1971) (per curiam), a company allegedly refused to hire women with young children, but did hire men with children the same age. Because its discrimination depended not only on the employee’s sex as a female but also on the presence of another criterion—namely, being a parent of young children—the company contended it hadn’t engaged in discrimination “because of ” sex. The company maintained, too, that it hadn’t violated the law because, as a whole, it tended to favor hiring women over men. Unsurprisingly by now, these submissions did not sway the Court. That an employer discriminates intentionally against an individual only in part because of sex supplies no defense to Title VII. Nor does the fact an employer may happen to favor women as a class.

In Los Angeles Dept. of Water and Power v. Manhart, 435 U.S. 702 (1978), an employer required women to make larger pension fund contributions than men. The employer sought to justify its disparate treatment on the ground that women tend to live longer than men, and thus are likely to receive more from the pension fund over time. By everyone’s admission, the employer was not guilty of animosity against women or a “purely habitual assumptio[n] about a woman’s inability to perform certain kinds of work”; instead, it relied on what appeared to be a statistically accurate statement about life expectancy. Id., at 707–708. Even so, the Court recognized, a rule that appears evenhanded at the group level can prove discriminatory at the level of individuals. True, women as a class may live longer than men as a class. But “[t]he statute’s focus on the individual is unambiguous,” and any individual woman might make the larger pension contributions and still die as early as a man. Id., at 708. Likewise, the Court dismissed as irrelevant the employer’s insistence that its actions were motivated by a wish to achieve classwide equality between the sexes: An employer’s intentional discrimination on the basis of sex is no more permissible when it is prompted by some further intention (or motivation), even one as prosaic as seeking to account for actuarial tables. Ibid. The employer violated Title VII because, when its policy worked exactly as planned, it could not “pass the simple test” asking whether an individual female employee would have been treated the same regardless of her sex. Id., at 711.

In Oncale v. Sundowner Offshore Services, Inc., 523 U.S. 75 (1998), a male plaintiff alleged that he was singled out by his male co-workers for sexual harassment. The Court held it was immaterial that members of the same sex as the victim committed the alleged discrimination. Nor did the Court concern itself with whether men as a group were subject to discrimination or whether something in addition to sex contributed to the discrimination, like the plaintiff ’s conduct or personal attributes. “[A]ssuredly,” the case didn’t involve “the principal evil Congress was concerned with when it enacted Title VII.” Id., at 79. But, the Court unanimously explained, it is “the provisions of our laws rather than the principal concerns of our legislators by which we are governed.” Ibid. Because the plaintiff alleged that the harassment would not have taken place but for his sex—that is, the plaintiff would not have suffered similar treatment if he were female—a triable Title VII claim existed.

The lessons these cases hold for ours are by now familiar.

First, it’s irrelevant what an employer might call its discriminatory practice, how others might label it, or what else might motivate it. In Manhart, the employer called its rule requiring women to pay more into the pension fund a “life expectancy” adjustment necessary to achieve sex equality. In Phillips, the employer could have accurately spoken of its policy as one based on “motherhood.” In much the same way, today’s employers might describe their actions as motivated by their employees’ homosexuality or transgender status. But just as labels and additional intentions or motivations didn’t make a difference in Manhart or Phillips, they cannot make a difference here. When an employer fires an employee for being homosexual or transgender, it necessarily and intentionally discriminates against that individual in part because of sex. And that is all Title VII has ever demanded to establish liability.

Second, the plaintiff ’s sex need not be the sole or primary cause of the employer’s adverse action. In Phillips, Manhart, and Oncale, the defendant easily could have pointed to some other, nonprotected trait and insisted it was the more important factor in the adverse employment outcome. So, too, it has no significance here if another factor—such as the sex the plaintiff is attracted to or presents as—might also be at work, or even play a more important role in the employer’s decision.

Finally, an employer cannot escape liability by demonstrating that it treats males and females comparably as groups. As Manhart teaches, an employer is liable for intentionally requiring an individual female employee to pay more into a pension plan than a male counterpart even if the scheme promotes equality at the group level. Likewise, an employer who intentionally fires an individual homosexual or transgender employee in part because of that individual’s sex violates the law even if the employer is willing to subject all male and female homosexual or transgender employees to the same rule.

III

What do the employers have to say in reply? For present purposes, they do not dispute that they fired the plaintiffs for being homosexual or transgender. Sorting out the true reasons for an adverse employment decision is often a hard business, but none of that is at issue here. Rather, the employers submit that even intentional discrimination against employees based on their homosexuality or transgender status supplies no basis for liability under Title VII.

The employers’ argument proceeds in two stages. Seeking footing in the statutory text, they begin by advancing a number of reasons why discrimination on the basis of homosexuality or transgender status doesn’t involve discrimination because of sex. But each of these arguments turns out only to repackage errors we’ve already seen and this Court’s precedents have already rejected. In the end, the employers are left to retreat beyond the statute’s text, where they fault us for ignoring the legislature’s purposes in enacting Title VII or certain expectations about its operation. They warn, too, about consequences that might follow a ruling for the employees. But none of these contentions about what the employers think the law was meant to do, or should do, allow us to ignore the law as it is.

A

Maybe most intuitively, the employers assert that discrimination on the basis of homosexuality and transgender status aren’t referred to as sex discrimination in ordinary conversation. If asked by a friend (rather than a judge) why they were fired, even today’s plaintiffs would likely respond that it was because they were gay or transgender, not because of sex. According to the employers, that conversational answer, not the statute’s strict terms, should guide our thinking and suffice to defeat any suggestion that the employees now before us were fired because of sex. Cf. post, at 3 (Alito, J., dissenting); post, at 8–13 (Kavanaugh, J., dissenting).

But this submission rests on a mistaken understanding of what kind of cause the law is looking for in a Title VII case. In conversation, a speaker is likely to focus on what seems most relevant or informative to the listener. So an employee who has just been fired is likely to identify the primary or most direct cause rather than list literally every but-for cause. To do otherwise would be tiring at best. But these conversational conventions do not control Title VII’s legal analysis, which asks simply whether sex was a but-for cause. In Phillips, for example, a woman who was not hired under the employer’s policy might have told her friends that her application was rejected because she was a mother, or because she had young children. Given that many women could be hired under the policy, it’s unlikely she would say she was not hired because she was a woman. But the Court did not hesitate to recognize that the employer in Phillips discriminated against the plaintiff because of her sex. Sex wasn’t the only factor, or maybe even the main factor, but it was one but-for cause—and that was enough. You can call the statute’s but-for causation test what you will—expansive, legalistic, the dissents even dismiss it as wooden or literal. But it is the law.

Trying another angle, the defendants before us suggest that an employer who discriminates based on homosexuality or transgender status doesn’t intentionally discriminate based on sex, as a disparate treatment claim requires. See post, at 9–12 (Alito, J., dissenting); post, at 12–13 (Kavanaugh, J., dissenting). But, as we’ve seen, an employer who discriminates against homosexual or transgender employees necessarily and intentionally applies sex-based rules. An employer that announces it will not employ anyone who is homosexual, for example, intends to penalize male employees for being attracted to men and female employees for being attracted to women.

What, then, do the employers mean when they insist intentional discrimination based on homosexuality or transgender status isn’t intentional discrimination based on sex? Maybe the employers mean they don’t intend to harm one sex or the other as a class. But as should be clear by now, the statute focuses on discrimination against individuals, not groups. Alternatively, the employers may mean that they don’t perceive themselves as motivated by a desire to discriminate based on sex. But nothing in Title VII turns on the employer’s labels or any further intentions (or motivations) for its conduct beyond sex discrimination. In Manhart, the employer intentionally required women to make higher pension contributions only to fulfill the further purpose of making things more equitable between men and women as groups. In Phillips, the employer may have perceived itself as discriminating based on motherhood, not sex, given that its hiring policies as a whole favored women. But in both cases, the Court set all this aside as irrelevant. The employers’ policies involved intentional discrimination because of sex, and Title VII liability necessarily followed.

Aren’t these cases different, the employers ask, given that an employer could refuse to hire a gay or transgender individual without ever learning the applicant’s sex? Suppose an employer asked homosexual or transgender applicants to tick a box on its application form. The employer then had someone else redact any information that could be used to discern sex. The resulting applications would disclose which individuals are homosexual or transgender without revealing whether they also happen to be men or women. Doesn’t that possibility indicate that the employer’s discrimination against homosexual or transgender persons cannot be sex discrimination?

No, it doesn’t. Even in this example, the individual applicant’s sex still weighs as a factor in the employer’s decision. Change the hypothetical ever so slightly and its flaws become apparent. Suppose an employer’s application form offered a single box to check if the applicant is either black or Catholic. If the employer refuses to hire anyone who checks that box, would we conclude the employer has complied with Title VII, so long as it studiously avoids learning any particular applicant’s race or religion? Of course not: By intentionally setting out a rule that makes hiring turn on race or religion, the employer violates the law, whatever he might know or not know about individual applicants.

The same holds here. There is no way for an applicant to decide whether to check the homosexual or transgender box without considering sex. To see why, imagine an applicant doesn’t know what the words homosexual or transgender mean. Then try writing out instructions for who should check the box without using the words man, woman, or sex (or some synonym). It can’t be done. Likewise, there is no way an employer can discriminate against those who check the homosexual or transgender box without discriminating in part because of an applicant’s sex. By discriminating against homosexuals, the employer intentionally penalizes men for being attracted to men and women for being attracted to women. By discriminating against transgender persons, the employer unavoidably discriminates against persons with one sex identified at birth and another today. Any way you slice it, the employer intentionally refuses to hire applicants in part because of the affected individuals’ sex, even if it never learns any applicant’s sex.

Next, the employers turn to Title VII’s list of protected characteristics—race, color, religion, sex, and national origin. Because homosexuality and transgender status can’t be found on that list and because they are conceptually distinct from sex, the employers reason, they are implicitly excluded from Title VII’s reach. Put another way, if Congress had wanted to address these matters in Title VII, it would have referenced them specifically. Cf. post, at 7–8 (Alito, J., dissenting); post, at 13–15 (Kavanaugh, J., dissenting).

But that much does not follow. We agree that homosexuality and transgender status are distinct concepts from sex. But, as we’ve seen, discrimination based on homosexuality or transgender status necessarily entails discrimination based on sex; the first cannot happen without the second. Nor is there any such thing as a “canon of donut holes,” in which Congress’s failure to speak directly to a specific case that falls within a more general statutory rule creates a tacit exception. Instead, when Congress chooses not to include any exceptions to a broad rule, courts apply the broad rule. And that is exactly how this Court has always approached Title VII. “Sexual harassment” is conceptually distinct from sex discrimination, but it can fall within Title VII’s sweep. Oncale, 523 U. S., at 79–80. Same with “motherhood discrimination.” See Phillips, 400 U. S., at 544. Would the employers have us reverse those cases on the theory that Congress could have spoken to those problems more specifically? Of course not. As enacted, Title VII prohibits all forms of discrimination because of sex, however they may manifest themselves or whatever other labels might attach to them.

The employers try the same point another way. Since 1964, they observe, Congress has considered several proposals to add sexual orientation to Title VII’s list of protected characteristics, but no such amendment has become law. Meanwhile, Congress has enacted other statutes addressing other topics that do discuss sexual orientation. This postenactment legislative history, they urge, should tell us something. Cf. post, at 2, 42–43 (Alito, J., dissenting); post, at 4, 15–16 (Kavanaugh, J., dissenting).

But what? There’s no authoritative evidence explaining why later Congresses adopted other laws referencing sexual orientation but didn’t amend this one. Maybe some in the later legislatures understood the impact Title VII’s broad language already promised for cases like ours and didn’t think a revision needed. Maybe others knew about its impact but hoped no one else would notice. Maybe still others, occupied by other concerns, didn’t consider the issue at all. All we can know for certain is that speculation about why a later Congress declined to adopt new legislation offers a “particularly dangerous” basis on which to rest an interpretation of an existing law a different and earlier Congress did adopt. Pension Benefit Guaranty Corporation v. LTV Corp., 496 U.S. 633, 650 (1990); see also United States v. Wells, 519 U.S. 482, 496 (1997); Sullivan v. Finkelstein, 496 U.S. 617, 632 (1990) (Scalia, J., concurring) (“Arguments based on subsequent legislative history . . . should not be taken seriously, not even in a footnote”).

That leaves the employers to seek a different sort of exception. Maybe the traditional and simple but-for causation test should apply in all other Title VII cases, but it just doesn’t work when it comes to cases involving homosexual and transgender employees. The test is too blunt to capture the nuances here. The employers illustrate their concern with an example. When we apply the simple test to Mr. Bostock—asking whether Mr. Bostock, a man attracted to other men, would have been fired had he been a woman—we don’t just change his sex. Along the way, we change his sexual orientation too (from homosexual to heterosexual). If the aim is to isolate whether a plaintiff ’s sex caused the dismissal, the employers stress, we must hold sexual orientation constant—meaning we need to change both his sex and the sex to which he is attracted. So for Mr. Bostock, the question should be whether he would’ve been fired if he were a woman attracted to women. And because his employer would have been as quick to fire a lesbian as it was a gay man, the employers conclude, no Title VII violation has occurred.

While the explanation is new, the mistakes are the same. The employers might be onto something if Title VII only ensured equal treatment between groups of men and women or if the statute applied only when sex is the sole or primary reason for an employer’s challenged adverse employment action. But both of these premises are mistaken. Title VII’s plain terms and our precedents don’t care if an employer treats men and women comparably as groups; an employer who fires both lesbians and gay men equally doesn’t diminish but doubles its liability. Just cast a glance back to Manhart, where it was no defense that the employer sought to equalize pension contributions based on life expectancy. Nor does the statute care if other factors besides sex contribute to an employer’s discharge decision. Mr. Bostock’s employer might have decided to fire him only because of the confluence of two factors, his sex and the sex to which he is attracted. But exactly the same might have been said in Phillips, where motherhood was the added variable.

Still, the employers insist, something seems different here. Unlike certain other employment policies this Court has addressed that harmed only women or only men, the employers’ policies in the cases before us have the same adverse consequences for men and women. How could sex be necessary to the result if a member of the opposite sex might face the same outcome from the same policy?

What the employers see as unique isn’t even unusual. Often in life and law two but-for factors combine to yield a result that could have also occurred in some other way. Imagine that it’s a nice day outside and your house is too warm, so you decide to open the window. Both the cool temperature outside and the heat inside are but-for causes of your choice to open the window. That doesn’t change just because you also would have opened the window had it been warm outside and cold inside. In either case, no one would deny that the window is open “because of ” the outside temperature. Our cases are much the same. So, for example, when it comes to homosexual employees, male sex and attraction to men are but-for factors that can combine to get them fired. The fact that female sex and attraction to women can also get an employee fired does no more than show the same outcome can be achieved through the combination of different factors. In either case, though, sex plays an essential but-for role.

At bottom, the employers’ argument unavoidably comes down to a suggestion that sex must be the sole or primary cause of an adverse employment action for Title VII liability to follow. And, as we’ve seen, that suggestion is at odds with everything we know about the statute. Consider an employer eager to revive the workplace gender roles of the 1950s. He enforces a policy that he will hire only men as mechanics and only women as secretaries. When a qualified woman applies for a mechanic position and is denied, the “simple test” immediately spots the discrimination: A qualified man would have been given the job, so sex was a but-for cause of the employer’s refusal to hire. But like the employers before us today, this employer would say not so fast. By comparing the woman who applied to be a mechanic to a man who applied to be a mechanic, we’ve quietly changed two things: the applicant’s sex and her trait of failing to conform to 1950s gender roles. The “simple test” thus overlooks that it is really the applicant’s bucking of 1950s gender roles, not her sex, doing the work. So we need to hold that second trait constant: Instead of comparing the disappointed female applicant to a man who applied for the same position, the employer would say, we should compare her to a man who applied to be a secretary. And because that jobseeker would be refused too, this must not be sex discrimination.

No one thinks that, so the employers must scramble to justify deploying a stricter causation test for use only in cases involving discrimination based on sexual orientation or transgender status. Such a rule would create a curious discontinuity in our case law, to put it mildly. Employer hires based on sexual stereotypes? Simple test. Employer sets pension contributions based on sex? Simple test. Employer fires men who do not behave in a sufficiently masculine way around the office? Simple test. But when that same employer discriminates against women who are attracted to women, or persons identified at birth as women who later identify as men, we suddenly roll out a new and more rigorous standard? Why are these reasons for taking sex into account different from all the rest? Title VII’s text can offer no answer.

B

Ultimately, the employers are forced to abandon the statutory text and precedent altogether and appeal to assumptions and policy. Most pointedly, they contend that few in 1964 would have expected Title VII to apply to discrimination against homosexual and transgender persons. And whatever the text and our precedent indicate, they say, shouldn’t this fact cause us to pause before recognizing liability?

It might be tempting to reject this argument out of hand. This Court has explained many times over many years that, when the meaning of the statute’s terms is plain, our job is at an end. The people are entitled to rely on the law as written, without fearing that courts might disregard its plain terms based on some extratextual consideration. See, e.g., Carcieri v. Salazar, 555 U.S. 379, 387 (2009); Connecticut Nat. Bank v. Germain, 503 U.S. 249, 253–254 (1992); Rubin v. United States, 449 U.S. 424, 430 (1981). Of course, some Members of this Court have consulted legislative history when interpreting ambiguous statutory language. Cf. post, at 40 (Alito, J., dissenting). But that has no bearing here. “Legislative history, for those who take it into account, is meant to clear up ambiguity, not create it.” Milner v. Department of Navy, 562 U.S. 562, 574 (2011). And as we have seen, no ambiguity exists about how Title VII’s terms apply to the facts before us. To be sure, the statute’s application in these cases reaches “beyond the principal evil” legislators may have intended or expected to address. Oncale, 523 U. S., at 79. But “ ‘the fact that [a statute] has been applied in situations not expressly anticipated by Congress’ ” does not demonstrate ambiguity; instead, it simply “ ‘demonstrates [the] breadth’ ” of a legislative command. Sedima, S. P. R. L. v. Imrex Co., 473 U.S. 479, 499 (1985). And “it is ultimately the provisions of ” those legislative commands “rather than the principal concerns of our legislators by which we are governed.” Oncale, 523 U. S., at 79; see also A. Scalia & B. Garner, Reading Law: The Interpretation of Legal Texts 101 (2012) (noting that unexpected applications of broad language reflect only Congress’s “presumed point [to] produce general coverage—not to leave room for courts to recognize ad hoc exceptions”).

Still, while legislative history can never defeat unambiguous statutory text, historical sources can be useful for a different purpose: Because the law’s ordinary meaning at the time of enactment usually governs, we must be sensitive to the possibility a statutory term that means one thing today or in one context might have meant something else at the time of its adoption or might mean something different in another context. And we must be attuned to the possibility that a statutory phrase ordinarily bears a different meaning than the terms do when viewed individually or literally. To ferret out such shifts in linguistic usage or subtle distinctions between literal and ordinary meaning, this Court has sometimes consulted the understandings of the law’s drafters as some (not always conclusive) evidence. For example, in the context of the National Motor Vehicle Theft Act, this Court admitted that the term “vehicle” in 1931 could literally mean “a conveyance working on land, water or air.” McBoyle v. United States, 283 U.S. 25, 26 (1931). But given contextual clues and “everyday speech” at the time of the Act’s adoption in 1919, this Court concluded that “vehicles” in that statute included only things “moving on land,” not airplanes too. Ibid. Similarly, in New Prime, we held that, while the term “contracts of employment” today might seem to encompass only contracts with employees, at the time of the statute’s adoption the phrase was ordinarily understood to cover contracts with independent contractors as well. 586 U. S., at ___–___ (slip op., at 6–9). Cf. post, at 7–8 (Kavanaugh, J., dissenting) (providing additional examples).

The employers, however, advocate nothing like that here. They do not seek to use historical sources to illustrate that the meaning of any of Title VII’s language has changed since 1964 or that the statute’s terms, whether viewed individually or as a whole, ordinarily carried some message we have missed. To the contrary, as we have seen, the employers agree with our understanding of all the statutory language—“discriminate against any individual . . . because of such individual’s . . . sex.” Nor do the competing dissents offer an alternative account about what these terms mean either when viewed individually or in the aggregate. Rather than suggesting that the statutory language bears some other meaning, the employers and dissents merely suggest that, because few in 1964 expected today’s result, we should not dare to admit that it follows ineluctably from the statutory text. When a new application emerges that is both unexpected and important, they would seemingly have us merely point out the question, refer the subject back to Congress, and decline to enforce the plain terms of the law in the meantime.

That is exactly the sort of reasoning this Court has long rejected. Admittedly, the employers take pains to couch their argument in terms of seeking to honor the statute’s “expected applications” rather than vindicate its “legislative intent.” But the concepts are closely related. One could easily contend that legislators only intended expected applications or that a statute’s purpose is limited to achieving applications foreseen at the time of enactment. However framed, the employer’s logic impermissibly seeks to displace the plain meaning of the law in favor of something lying beyond it.

If anything, the employers’ new framing may only add new problems. The employers assert that “no one” in 1964 or for some time after would have anticipated today’s result. But is that really true? Not long after the law’s passage, gay and transgender employees began filing Title VII complaints, so at least some people foresaw this potential application. See, e.g., Smith v. Liberty Mut. Ins. Co., 395 F. Supp. 1098, 1099 (ND Ga. 1975) (addressing claim from 1969); Holloway v. Arthur Andersen & Co., 566 F.2d 659, 661 (CA9 1977) (addressing claim from 1974). And less than a decade after Title VII’s passage, during debates over the Equal Rights Amendment, others counseled that its language—which was strikingly similar to Title VII’s—might also protect homosexuals from discrimination. See, e.g., Note, The Legality of Homosexual Marriage, 82 Yale L. J. 573, 583–584 (1973).

Why isn’t that enough to demonstrate that today’s result isn’t totally unexpected? How many people have to foresee the application for it to qualify as “expected”? Do we look only at the moment the statute was enacted, or do we allow some time for the implications of a new statute to be worked out? Should we consider the expectations of those who had no reason to give a particular application any thought or only those with reason to think about the question? How do we account for those who change their minds over time, after learning new facts or hearing a new argument? How specifically or generally should we frame the “application” at issue? None of these questions have obvious answers, and the employers don’t propose any.

One could also reasonably fear that objections about unexpected applications will not be deployed neutrally. Often lurking just behind such objections resides a cynicism that Congress could not possibly have meant to protect a disfavored group. Take this Court’s encounter with the Americans with Disabilities Act’s directive that no “ ‘public entity’ ” can discriminate against any “ ‘qualified individual with a disability.’ ” Pennsylvania Dept. of Corrections v. Yeskey, 524 U.S. 206, 208 (1998). Congress, of course, didn’t list every public entity the statute would apply to. And no one batted an eye at its application to, say, post offices. But when the statute was applied to prisons, curiously, some demanded a closer look: Pennsylvania argued that “Congress did not ‘envisio[n] that the ADA would be applied to state prisoners.’ ” Id., at 211–212. This Court emphatically rejected that view, explaining that, “in the context of an unambiguous statutory text,” whether a specific application was anticipated by Congress “is irrelevant.” Id., at 212. As Yeskey and today’s cases exemplify, applying protective laws to groups that were politically unpopular at the time of the law’s passage—whether prisoners in the 1990s or homosexual and transgender employees in the 1960s—often may be seen as unexpected. But to refuse enforcement just because of that, because the parties before us happened to be unpopular at the time of the law’s passage, would not only require us to abandon our role as interpreters of statutes; it would tilt the scales of justice in favor of the strong or popular and neglect the promise that all persons are entitled to the benefit of the law’s terms. Cf. post, at 28–35 (Alito, J., dissenting); post, at 21–22 (Kavanaugh, J., dissenting).

The employer’s position also proves too much. If we applied Title VII’s plain text only to applications some (yet-to-be-determined) group expected in 1964, we’d have more than a little law to overturn. Start with Oncale. How many people in 1964 could have expected that the law would turn out to protect male employees? Let alone to protect them from harassment by other male employees? As we acknowledged at the time, “male-on-male sexual harassment in the workplace was assuredly not the principal evil Congress was concerned with when it enacted Title VII.” 523 U. S., at 79. Yet the Court did not hesitate to recognize that Title VII’s plain terms forbade it. Under the employer’s logic, it would seem this was a mistake.

That’s just the beginning of the law we would have to unravel. As one Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) Commissioner observed shortly after the law’s passage, the words of “ ‘the sex provision of Title VII [are] difficult to . . . control.’ ” Franklin, Inventing the “Traditional Concept” of Sex Discrimination, 125 Harv. L. Rev. 1307, 1338 (2012) (quoting Federal Mediation Service To Play Role in Implementing Title VII, [1965–1968 Transfer Binder] CCH Employment Practices ¶8046, p. 6074). The “difficult[y]” may owe something to the initial proponent of the sex discrimination rule in Title VII, Representative Howard Smith. On some accounts, the congressman may have wanted (or at least was indifferent to the possibility of ) broad language with wide-ranging effect. Not necessarily because he was interested in rooting out sex discrimination in all its forms, but because he may have hoped to scuttle the whole Civil Rights Act and thought that adding language covering sex discrimination would serve as a poison pill. See C. Whalen & B. Whalen, The Longest Debate: A Legislative History of the 1964 Civil Rights Act 115–118 (1985). Certainly nothing in the meager legislative history of this provision suggests it was meant to be read narrowly.

Whatever his reasons,thanks to the broad language Representative Smith introduced, many, maybe most, applications of Title VII’s sex provision were “unanticipated” at the time of the law’s adoption. In fact, many now-obvious applications met with heated opposition early on, even among those tasked with enforcing the law. In the years immediately following Title VII’s passage, the EEOC officially opined that listing men’s positions and women’s positions separately in job postings was simply helpful rather than discriminatory. Franklin, 125 Harv. L. Rev., at 1340 (citing Press Release, EEOC (Sept. 22, 1965)). Some courts held that Title VII did not prevent an employer from firing an employee for refusing his sexual advances. See, e.g., Barnes v. Train, 1974 WL 10628, *1 (D DC, Aug. 9, 1974). And courts held that a policy against hiring mothers but not fathers of young children wasn’t discrimination because of sex. See Phillips v. Martin Marietta Corp., 411 F.2d 1 (CA5 1969), rev’d, 400 U.S. 542 (1971) (per curiam).

Over time, though, the breadth of the statutory language proved too difficult to deny. By the end of the 1960s, the EEOC reversed its stance on sex-segregated job advertising. See Franklin, 125 Harv. L. Rev., at 1345. In 1971, this Court held that treating women with children differently from men with children violated Title VII. Phillips, 400 U. S., at 544. And by the late 1970s, courts began to recognize that sexual harassment can sometimes amount to sex discrimination. See, e.g., Barnes v. Costle, 561 F.2d 983, 990 (CADC 1977). While to the modern eye each of these examples may seem “plainly [to] constitut[e] discrimination because of biological sex,” post, at 38 (Alito, J., dissenting), all were hotly contested for years following Title VII’s enactment. And as with the discrimination we consider today, many federal judges long accepted interpretations of Title VII that excluded these situations. Cf. post, at 21–22 (Kavanaugh, J., dissenting) (highlighting that certain lower courts have rejected Title VII claims based on homosexuality and transgender status). Would the employers have us undo every one of these unexpected applications too?

The weighty implications of the employers’ argument from expectations also reveal why they cannot hide behind the no-elephants-in-mouseholes canon. That canon recognizes that Congress “does not alter the fundamental details of a regulatory scheme in vague terms or ancillary provisions.” Whitman v. American Trucking Assns., Inc., 531 U.S. 457, 468 (2001). But it has no relevance here. We can’t deny that today’s holding—that employers are prohibited from firing employees on the basis of homosexuality or transgender status—is an elephant. But where’s the mousehole? Title VII’s prohibition of sex discrimination in employment is a major piece of federal civil rights legislation. It is written in starkly broad terms. It has repeatedly produced unexpected applications, at least in the view of those on the receiving end of them. Congress’s key drafting choices—to focus on discrimination against individuals and not merely between groups and to hold employers liable whenever sex is a but-for cause of the plaintiff ’s injuries—virtually guaranteed that unexpected applications would emerge over time. This elephant has never hidden in a mousehole; it has been standing before us all along.

With that, the employers are left to abandon their concern for expected applications and fall back to the last line of defense for all failing statutory interpretation arguments: naked policy appeals. If we were to apply the statute’s plain language, they complain, any number of undesirable policy consequences would follow. Cf. post, at 44–54 (Alito, J., dissenting). Gone here is any pretense of statutory interpretation; all that’s left is a suggestion we should proceed without the law’s guidance to do as we think best. But that’s an invitation no court should ever take up. The place to make new legislation, or address unwanted consequences of old legislation, lies in Congress. When it comes to statutory interpretation, our role is limited to applying the law’s demands as faithfully as we can in the cases that come before us. As judges we possess no special expertise or authority to declare for ourselves what a self-governing people should consider just or wise. And the same judicial humility that requires us to refrain from adding to statutes requires us to refrain from diminishing them.

What are these consequences anyway? The employers worry that our decision will sweep beyond Title VII to other federal or state laws that prohibit sex discrimination. And, under Title VII itself, they say sex-segregated bathrooms, locker rooms, and dress codes will prove unsustainable after our decision today. But none of these other laws are before us; we have not had the benefit of adversarial testing about the meaning of their terms, and we do not prejudge any such question today. Under Title VII, too, we do not purport to address bathrooms, locker rooms, or anything else of the kind. The only question before us is whether an employer who fires someone simply for being homosexual or transgender has discharged or otherwise discriminated against that individual “because of such individual’s sex.” As used in Title VII, the term “ ‘discriminate against’ ” refers to “distinctions or differences in treatment that injure protected individuals.” Burlington N. & S. F. R., 548 U. S., at 59. Firing employees because of a statutorily protected trait surely counts. Whether other policies and practices might or might not qualify as unlawful discrimination or find justifications under other provisions of Title VII are questions for future cases, not these.

Separately, the employers fear that complying with Title VII’s requirement in cases like ours may require some employers to violate their religious convictions. We are also deeply concerned with preserving the promise of the free exercise of religion enshrined in our Constitution; that guarantee lies at the heart of our pluralistic society. But worries about how Title VII may intersect with religious liberties are nothing new; they even predate the statute’s passage. As a result of its deliberations in adopting the law, Congress included an express statutory exception for religious organizations. §2000e–1(a). This Court has also recognized that the First Amendment can bar the application of employment discrimination laws “to claims concerning the employment relationship between a religious institution and its ministers.” Hosanna-Tabor Evangelical Lutheran Church and School v. EEOC, 565 U.S. 171, 188 (2012). And Congress has gone a step further yet in the Religious Freedom Restoration Act of 1993 (RFRA), 107Stat. 1488, codified at 42 U. S. C. §2000bb et seq. That statute prohibits the federal government from substantially burdening a person’s exercise of religion unless it demonstrates that doing so both furthers a compelling governmental interest and represents the least restrictive means of furthering that interest. §2000bb–1. Because RFRA operates as a kind of super statute, displacing the normal operation of other federal laws, it might supersede Title VII’s commands in appropriate cases. See §2000bb–3.

But how these doctrines protecting religious liberty interact with Title VII are questions for future cases too. Harris Funeral Homes did unsuccessfully pursue a RFRA-based defense in the proceedings below. In its certiorari petition, however, the company declined to seek review of that adverse decision, and no other religious liberty claim is now before us. So while other employers in other cases may raise free exercise arguments that merit careful consideration, none of the employers before us today represent in this Court that compliance with Title VII will infringe their own religious liberties in any way.

*

Some of those who supported adding language to Title VII to ban sex discrimination may have hoped it would derail the entire Civil Rights Act. Yet, contrary to those intentions, the bill became law. Since then, Title VII’s effects have unfolded with far-reaching consequences, some likely beyond what many in Congress or elsewhere expected.

But none of this helps decide today’s cases. Ours is a society of written laws. Judges are not free to overlook plain statutory commands on the strength of nothing more than suppositions about intentions or guesswork about expectations. In Title VII, Congress adopted broad language making it illegal for an employer to rely on an employee’s sex when deciding to fire that employee. We do not hesitate to recognize today a necessary consequence of that legislative choice: An employer who fires an individual merely for being gay or transgender defies the law.

The judgments of the Second and Sixth Circuits in Nos. 17–1623 and 18–107 are affirmed. The judgment of the Eleventh Circuit in No. 17–1618 is reversed, and the case is remanded for further proceedings consistent with this opinion.

It is so ordered.

SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES

_________________

Nos. 17–1618, 17–1623 and 18–107

_________________

GERALD LYNN BOSTOCK, PETITIONER

17–1618v.

CLAYTON COUNTY, GEORGIA

on writ of certiorari to the united states court of appeals for the eleventh circuit

ALTITUDE EXPRESS, INC., et al., PETITIONERS

17–1623v.

MELISSA ZARDA and William Allen Moore, Jr., co-independent executors of the ESTATE OF DONALD ZARDA

on writ of certiorari to the united states court of appeals for the second circuit

R.G. & G.R. HARRIS FUNERAL HOMES, INC., PETITIONER

18–107v.

EQUAL EMPLOYMENT OPPORTUNITY COMMISSION, et al.

on writ of certiorari to the united states court of appeals for the sixth circuit

[June 15, 2020]

Justice Kavanaugh, dissenting.

Like many cases in this Court, this case boils down to one fundamental question: Who decides? Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 prohibits employment discrimination “because of ” an individual’s “race, color, religion, sex, or national origin.” The question here is whether Title VII should be expanded to prohibit employment discrimination because of sexual orientation. Under the Constitution’s separation of powers, the responsibility to amend Title VII belongs to Congress and the President in the legislative process, not to this Court.

The political branches are well aware of this issue. In 2007, the U. S. House of Representatives voted 235 to 184 to prohibit employment discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation. In 2013, the U. S. Senate voted 64 to 32 in favor of a similar ban. In 2019, the House again voted 236 to 173 to outlaw employment discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation. Although both the House and Senate have voted at different times to prohibit sexual orientation discrimination, the two Houses have not yet come together with the President to enact a bill into law.

The policy arguments for amending Title VII are very weighty. The Court has previously stated, and I fully agree, that gay and lesbian Americans “cannot be treated as social outcasts or as inferior in dignity and worth.” Masterpiece Cakeshop, Ltd. v. Colorado Civil Rights Comm’n, 584 U. S. ___, ___ (2018) (slip op., at 9).

But we are judges, not Members of Congress. And in Alexander Hamilton’s words, federal judges exercise “neither Force nor Will, but merely judgment.” The Federalist No. 78, p. 523 (J. Cooke ed. 1961). Under the Constitution’s separation of powers, our role as judges is to interpret and follow the law as written, regardless of whether we like the result. Cf. Texas v. Johnson, 491 U.S. 397, 420–421 (1989) (Kennedy, J., concurring). Our role is not to make or amend the law. As written, Title VII does not prohibit employment discrimination because of sexual orientation.[1]

I

Title VII makes it unlawful for employers to discriminate because of “race, color, religion, sex, or national origin.” 42 U. S. C. §2000e–2(a)(1).[2] As enacted in 1964, Title VII did not prohibit other forms of employment discrimination, such as age discrimination, disability discrimination, or sexual orientation discrimination.

Over time, Congress has enacted new employment discrimination laws. In 1967, Congress passed and President Johnson signed the Age Discrimination in Employment Act. 81Stat. 602. In 1973, Congress passed and President Nixon signed the Rehabilitation Act, which in substance prohibited disability discrimination against federal and certain other employees. 87Stat. 355. In 1990, Congress passed and President George H. W. Bush signed the comprehensive Americans with Disabilities Act. 104Stat. 327.

To prohibit age discrimination and disability discrimination, this Court did not unilaterally rewrite or update the law. Rather, Congress and the President enacted new legislation, as prescribed by the Constitution’s separation of powers.

For several decades, Congress has considered numerous bills to prohibit employment discrimination based on sexual orientation. But as noted above, although Congress has come close, it has not yet shouldered a bill over the legislative finish line.

In the face of the unsuccessful legislative efforts (so far) to prohibit sexual orientation discrimination, judges may not rewrite the law simply because of their own policy views. Judges may not update the law merely because they think that Congress does not have the votes or the fortitude. Judges may not predictively amend the law just because they believe that Congress is likely to do it soon anyway.

If judges could rewrite laws based on their own policy views, or based on their own assessments of likely future legislative action, the critical distinction between legislative authority and judicial authority that undergirds the Constitution’s separation of powers would collapse, thereby threatening the impartial rule of law and individual liberty. As James Madison stated: “Were the power of judging joined with the legislative, the life and liberty of the subject would be exposed to arbitrary controul, for the judge would then be the legislator.” The Federalist No. 47, at 326 (citing Montesquieu). If judges could, for example, rewrite or update securities laws or healthcare laws or gun laws or environmental laws simply based on their own policy views, the Judiciary would become a democratically illegitimate super-legislature—unelected, and hijacking the important policy decisions reserved by the Constitution to the people’s elected representatives.

Because judges interpret the law as written, not as they might wish it were written, the first 10 U. S. Courts of Appeals to consider whether Title VII prohibits sexual orientation discrimination all said no. Some 30 federal judges considered the question. All 30 judges said no, based on the text of the statute. 30 out of 30.

But in the last few years, a new theory has emerged. To end-run the bedrock separation-of-powers principle that courts may not unilaterally rewrite statutes, the plaintiffs here (and, recently, two Courts of Appeals) have advanced a novel and creative argument. They contend that discrimination “because of sexual orientation” and discrimination “because of sex” are actually not separate categories of discrimination after all. Instead, the theory goes, discrimination because of sexual orientation always qualifies as discrimination because of sex: When a gay man is fired because he is gay, he is fired because he is attracted to men, even though a similarly situated woman would not be fired just because she is attracted to men. According to this theory, it follows that the man has been fired, at least as a literal matter, because of his sex.

Under this literalist approach, sexual orientation discrimination automatically qualifies as sex discrimination, and Title VII’s prohibition against sex discrimination therefore also prohibits sexual orientation discrimination—and actually has done so since 1964, unbeknownst to everyone. Surprisingly, the Court today buys into this approach. Ante, at 9–12.

For the sake of argument, I will assume that firing someone because of their sexual orientation may, as a very literal matter, entail making a distinction based on sex. But to prevail in this case with their literalist approach, the plaintiffs must also establish one of two other points. The plaintiffs must establish that courts, when interpreting a statute, adhere to literal meaning rather than ordinary meaning. Or alternatively, the plaintiffs must establish that the ordinary meaning of “discriminate because of sex”—not just the literal meaning—encompasses sexual orientation discrimination. The plaintiffs fall short on both counts.

First, courts must follow ordinary meaning, not literal meaning. And courts must adhere to the ordinary meaning of phrases, not just the meaning of the words in a phrase.

There is no serious debate about the foundational interpretive principle that courts adhere to ordinary meaning, not literal meaning, when interpreting statutes. As Justice Scalia explained, “the good textualist is not a literalist.” A. Scalia, A Matter of Interpretation 24 (1997). Or as Professor Eskridge stated: The “prime directive in statutory interpretation is to apply the meaning that a reasonable reader would derive from the text of the law,” so that “for hard cases as well as easy ones, the ordinary meaning (or the ‘everyday meaning’ or the ‘commonsense’ reading) of the relevant statutory text is the anchor for statutory interpretation.” W. Eskridge, Interpreting Law 33, 34–35 (2016) (footnote omitted). Or as Professor Manning put it, proper statutory interpretation asks “how a reasonable person, conversant with the relevant social and linguistic conventions, would read the text in context. This approach recognizes that the literal or dictionary definitions of words will often fail to account for settled nuances or background conventions that qualify the literal meaning of language and, in particular, of legal language.” Manning, The Absurdity Doctrine, 116 Harv. L. Rev. 2387, 2392–2393 (2003). Or as Professor Nelson wrote: No “mainstream judge is interested solely in the literal definitions of a statute’s words.” Nelson, What Is Textualism?, 91 Va. L. Rev. 347, 376 (2005). The ordinary meaning that counts is the ordinary public meaning at the time of enactment—although in this case, that temporal principle matters little because the ordinary meaning of “discriminate because of sex” was the same in 1964 as it is now.

Judges adhere to ordinary meaning for two main reasons: rule of law and democratic accountability. A society governed by the rule of law must have laws that are known and understandable to the citizenry. And judicial adherence to ordinary meaning facilitates the democratic accountability of America’s elected representatives for the laws they enact. Citizens and legislators must be able to ascertain the law by reading the words of the statute. Both the rule of law and democratic accountability badly suffer when a court adopts a hidden or obscure interpretation of the law, and not its ordinary meaning.

Consider a simple example of how ordinary meaning differs from literal meaning. A statutory ban on “vehicles in the park” would literally encompass a baby stroller. But no good judge would interpret the statute that way because the word “vehicle,” in its ordinary meaning, does not encompass baby strollers.

The ordinary meaning principle is longstanding and well settled. Time and again, this Court has rejected literalism in favor of ordinary meaning. Take a few examples:

The Court recognized that beans may be seeds “in the language of botany or natural history,” but concluded that beans are not seeds “in commerce” or “in common parlance.” Robertson v. Salomon, 130 U.S. 412, 414 (1889).

The Court explained that tomatoes are literally “the fruit of a vine,” but “in the common language of the people,” tomatoes are vegetables. Nix v. Hedden, 149 U.S. 304, 307 (1893).

The Court stated that the statutory term “vehicle” does not cover an aircraft: “No doubt etymologically it is possible to use the word to signify a conveyance working on land, water or air . . . . But in everyday speech ‘vehicle’ calls up the picture of a thing moving on land.” McBoyle v. United States, 283 U.S. 25, 26 (1931).

The Court pointed out that “this Court’s interpretation of the three-judge-court statutes has frequently deviated from the path of literalism.” Gonzalez v. Automatic Employees Credit Union, 419 U.S. 90, 96 (1974).

The Court refused a reading of “mineral deposits” that would include water, even if “water is a ‘mineral,’ in the broadest sense of that word,” because it would bring about a “major . . . alteration in established legal relationships based on nothing more than an overly literal reading of a statute, without any regard for its context or history.” Andrus v. Charlestone Stone Products Co., 436 U.S. 604, 610, 616 (1978).

The Court declined to interpret “facilitating” a drug distribution crime in a way that would cover purchasing drugs, because the “literal sweep of ‘facilitate’ sits uncomfortably with common usage.” Abuelhawa v. United States, 556 U.S. 816, 820 (2009).

The Court rebuffed a literal reading of “personnel rules” that would encompass any rules that personnel must follow (as opposed to human resources rules about personnel), and stated that no one “using ordinary language would describe” personnel rules “in this manner.” Milner v. Department of Navy, 562 U.S. 562, 578 (2011).

The Court explained that, when construing statutory phrases such as “arising from,” it avoids “uncritical literalism leading to results that no sensible person could have intended.” Jennings v. Rodriguez, 583 U. S. ___, ___–___ (2018) (plurality opinion) (slip op., at 9–10) (internal quotation marks omitted).

Those cases exemplify a deeply rooted principle: When there is a divide between the literal meaning and the ordinary meaning, courts must follow the ordinary meaning.

Next is a critical point of emphasis in this case. The difference between literal and ordinary meaning becomes especially important when—as in this case—judges consider phrases in statutes. (Recall that the shorthand version of the phrase at issue here is “discriminate because of sex.”)[3] Courts must heed the ordinary meaning of the phrase as a whole, not just the meaning of the words in the phrase. That is because a phrase may have a more precise or confined meaning than the literal meaning of the individual words in the phrase. Examples abound. An “American flag” could literally encompass a flag made in America, but in common parlance it denotes the Stars and Stripes. A “three-pointer” could literally include a field goal in football, but in common parlance, it is a shot from behind the arc in basketball. A “cold war” could literally mean any wintertime war, but in common parlance it signifies a conflict short of open warfare. A “washing machine” could literally refer to any machine used for washing any item, but in everyday speech it means a machine for washing clothes.

This Court has often emphasized the importance of sticking to the ordinary meaning of a phrase, rather than the meaning of words in the phrase. In FCC v. AT&T Inc., 562 U.S. 397 (2011), for example, the Court explained:

“AT&T’s argument treats the term ‘personal privacy’ as simply the sum of its two words: the privacy of a person. . . . But two words together may assume a more particular meaning than those words in isolation. We understand a golden cup to be a cup made of or resembling gold. A golden boy, on the other hand, is one who is charming, lucky, and talented. A golden opportunity is one not to be missed. ‘Personal’ in the phrase ‘personal privacy’ conveys more than just ‘of a person.’ It suggests a type of privacy evocative of human concerns—not the sort usually associated with an entity like, say, AT&T.” Id., at 406.

Exactly right and exactly on point in this case.

Justice Scalia explained the extraordinary importance of hewing to the ordinary meaning of a phrase: “Adhering to the fair meaning of the text (the textualist’s touchstone) does not limit one to the hyperliteral meaning of each word in the text. In the words of Learned Hand: ‘a sterile literalism . . . loses sight of the forest for the trees.’ The full body of a text contains implications that can alter the literal meaning of individual words.” A. Scalia & B. Garner, Reading Law 356 (2012) (footnote omitted). Put another way, “the meaning of a sentence may be more than that of the separate words, as a melody is more than the notes.” Helvering v. Gregory, 69 F.2d 809, 810–811 (CA2 1934) (L. Hand, J.). Judges must take care to follow ordinary meaning “when two words combine to produce a meaning that is not the mechanical composition of the two words separately.” Eskridge, Interpreting Law, at 62. Dictionaries are not “always useful for determining the ordinary meaning of word clusters (like ‘driving a vehicle’) or phrases and clauses or entire sentences.” Id., at 44. And we must recognize that a phrase can cover a “dramatically smaller category than either component term.” Id., at 62.

If the usual evidence indicates that a statutory phrase bears an ordinary meaning different from the literal strung-together definitions of the individual words in the phrase, we may not ignore or gloss over that discrepancy. “Legislation cannot sensibly be interpreted by stringing together dictionary synonyms of each word and proclaiming that, if the right example of the meaning of each is selected, the ‘plain meaning’ of the statute leads to a particular result. No theory of interpretation, including textualism itself, is premised on such an approach.” 883 F.3d 100, 144, n. 7 (CA2 2018) (Lynch, J., dissenting).[4]

In other words, this Court’s precedents and longstanding principles of statutory interpretation teach a clear lesson: Do not simply split statutory phrases into their component words, look up each in a dictionary, and then mechanically put them together again, as the majority opinion today mistakenly does. See ante, at 5–9. To reiterate Justice Scalia’s caution, that approach misses the forest for the trees.

A literalist approach to interpreting phrases disrespects ordinary meaning and deprives the citizenry of fair notice of what the law is. It destabilizes the rule of law and thwarts democratic accountability. For phrases as well as terms, the “linchpin of statutory interpretation is ordinary meaning, for that is going to be most accessible to the citizenry desirous of following the law and to the legislators and their staffs drafting the legal terms of the plans launched by statutes and to the administrators and judges implementing the statutory plan.” Eskridge, Interpreting Law, at 81; see Scalia, A Matter of Interpretation, at 17.

Bottom line: Statutory Interpretation 101 instructs courts to follow ordinary meaning, not literal meaning, and to adhere to the ordinary meaning of phrases, not just the meaning of the words in a phrase.

Second, in light of the bedrock principle that we must adhere to the ordinary meaning of a phrase, the question in this case boils down to the ordinary meaning of the phrase “discriminate because of sex.” Does the ordinary meaning of that phrase encompass discrimination because of sexual orientation? The answer is plainly no.

On occasion, it can be difficult for judges to assess ordinary meaning. Not here. Both common parlance and common legal usage treat sex discrimination and sexual orientation discrimination as two distinct categories of discrimination—back in 1964 and still today.

As to common parlance, few in 1964 (or today) would describe a firing because of sexual orientation as a firing because of sex. As commonly understood, sexual orientation discrimination is distinct from, and not a form of, sex discrimination. The majority opinion acknowledges the common understanding, noting that the plaintiffs here probably did not tell their friends that they were fired because of their sex. Ante, at 16. That observation is clearly correct. In common parlance, Bostock and Zarda were fired because they were gay, not because they were men.

Contrary to the majority opinion’s approach today, this Court has repeatedly emphasized that common parlance matters in assessing the ordinary meaning of a statute, because courts heed how “most people” “would have understood” the text of a statute when enacted. New Prime Inc. v. Oliveira, 586 U. S. ___, ___–___ (2019) (slip op., at 6–7); see Henson v. Santander Consumer USA Inc., 582 U. S. ___, ___ (2017) (slip op., at 4) (using a conversation between friends to demonstrate ordinary meaning); see also Wisconsin Central Ltd. v. United States, 585 U. S. ___, ___–___ (2018) (slip op., at 2–3) (similar); AT&T, 562 U. S., at 403–404 (similar).

Consider the employer who has four employees but must fire two of them for financial reasons. Suppose the four employees are a straight man, a straight woman, a gay man, and a lesbian. The employer with animosity against women (animosity based on sex) will fire the two women. The employer with animosity against gays (animosity based on sexual orientation) will fire the gay man and the lesbian. Those are two distinct harms caused by two distinct biases that have two different outcomes. To treat one as a form of the other—as the majority opinion does—misapprehends common language, human psychology, and real life. See Hively v. Ivy Tech Community College of Ind., 853 F.3d 339, 363 (CA7 2017) (Sykes, J., dissenting).

It also rewrites history. Seneca Falls was not Stonewall. The women’s rights movement was not (and is not) the gay rights movement, although many people obviously support or participate in both. So to think that sexual orientation discrimination is just a form of sex discrimination is not just a mistake of language and psychology, but also a mistake of history and sociology.

Importantly, an overwhelming body of federal law reflects and reinforces the ordinary meaning and demonstrates that sexual orientation discrimination is distinct from, and not a form of, sex discrimination. Since enacting Title VII in 1964, Congress has never treated sexual orientation discrimination the same as, or as a form of, sex discrimination. Instead, Congress has consistently treated sex discrimination and sexual orientation discrimination as legally distinct categories of discrimination.

Many federal statutes prohibit sex discrimination, and many federal statutes also prohibit sexual orientation discrimination. But those sexual orientation statutes expressly prohibit sexual orientation discrimination in addition to expressly prohibiting sex discrimination. Every single one. To this day, Congress has never defined sex discrimination to encompass sexual orientation discrimination. Instead, when Congress wants to prohibit sexual orientation discrimination in addition to sex discrimination, Congress explicitly refers to sexual orientation discrimination.[5]

That longstanding and widespread congressional practice matters. When interpreting statutes, as the Court has often said, we “usually presume differences in language” convey “differences in meaning.” Wisconsin Central, 585 U. S., at ___ (slip op., at 4) (internal quotation marks omitted). When Congress chooses distinct phrases to accomplish distinct purposes, and does so over and over again for decades, we may not lightly toss aside all of Congress’s careful handiwork. As Justice Scalia explained for the Court, “it is not our function” to “treat alike subjects that different Congresses have chosen to treat differently.” West Virginia Univ. Hospitals, Inc. v. Casey, 499 U.S. 83, 101 (1991); see id., at 92.

And the Court has likewise stressed that we may not read “a specific concept into general words when precise language in other statutes reveals that Congress knew how to identify that concept.” Eskridge, Interpreting Law, at 415; see University of Tex. Southwestern Medical Center v. Nassar, 570 U.S. 338, 357 (2013); Arlington Central School Dist. Bd. of Ed. v. Murphy, 548 U.S. 291, 297–298 (2006); Jama v. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, 543 U.S. 335, 341–342 (2005); Custis v. United States, 511 U.S. 485, 491–493 (1994); West Virginia Univ. Hospitals, 499 U. S., at 99.

So it is here. As demonstrated by all of the statutes covering sexual orientation discrimination, Congress knows how to prohibit sexual orientation discrimination. So courts should not read that specific concept into the general words “discriminate because of sex.” We cannot close our eyes to the indisputable fact that Congress—for several decades in a large number of statutes—has identified sex discrimination and sexual orientation discrimination as two distinct categories.

Where possible, we also strive to interpret statutes so as not to create undue surplusage. It is not uncommon to find some scattered redundancies in statutes. But reading sex discrimination to encompass sexual orientation discrimination would cast aside as surplusage the numerous references to sexual orientation discrimination sprinkled throughout the U. S. Code in laws enacted over the last 25 years.

In short, an extensive body of federal law both reflects and reinforces the widespread understanding that sexual orientation discrimination is distinct from, and not a form of, sex discrimination.

The story is the same with bills proposed in Congress. Since the 1970s, Members of Congress have introduced many bills to prohibit sexual orientation discrimination in the workplace. Until very recently, all of those bills would have expressly established sexual orientation as a separately proscribed category of discrimination. The bills did not define sex discrimination to encompass sexual orientation discrimination.[6]

The proposed bills are telling not because they are relevant to congressional intent regarding Title VII. See Central Bank of Denver, N. A. v. First Interstate Bank of Denver, N. A., 511 U.S. 164, 186–188 (1994). Rather, the proposed bills are telling because they, like the enacted laws, further demonstrate the widespread usage of the English language in the United States: Sexual orientation discrimination is distinct from, and not a form of, sex discrimination.

Presidential Executive Orders reflect that same common understanding. In 1967, President Johnson signed an Executive Order prohibiting sex discrimination in federal employment. In 1969, President Nixon issued a new order that did the same. Exec. Order No. 11375, 3 CFR 684 (1966–1970 Comp.); Exec. Order No. 11478, id., at 803. In 1998, President Clinton charted a new path and signed an Executive Order prohibiting sexual orientation discrimination in federal employment. Exec. Order No. 13087, 3 CFR 191 (1999). The Nixon and Clinton Executive Orders remain in effect today.

Like the relevant federal statutes, the 1998 Clinton Executive Order expressly added sexual orientation as a new, separately prohibited form of discrimination. As Judge Lynch cogently spelled out, “the Clinton Administration did not argue that the prohibition of sex discrimination in” the prior 1969 Executive Order “already banned, or henceforth would be deemed to ban, sexual orientation discrimination.” 883 F. 3d, at 152, n. 22 (dissenting opinion). In short, President Clinton’s 1998 Executive Order indicates that the Executive Branch, like Congress, has long understood sexual orientation discrimination to be distinct from, and not a form of, sex discrimination.

Federal regulations likewise reflect that same understanding. The Office of Personnel Management is the federal agency that administers and enforces personnel rules across the Federal Government. OPM has issued regulations that “govern . . . the employment practices of the Federal Government generally, and of individual agencies.” 5 CFR §§300.101, 300.102 (2019). Like the federal statutes and the Presidential Executive Orders, those OPM regulations separately prohibit sex discrimination and sexual orientation discrimination.

The States have proceeded in the same fashion. A majority of States prohibit sexual orientation discrimination in employment, either by legislation applying to most workers,[7] an executive order applying to public employees,[8] or both. Almost every state statute or executive order proscribing sexual orientation discrimination expressly prohibits sexual orientation discrimination separately from the State’s ban on sex discrimination.

That common usage in the States underscores that sexual orientation discrimination is commonly understood as a legal concept distinct from sex discrimination.

And it is the common understanding in this Court as well. Since 1971, the Court has employed rigorous or heightened constitutional scrutiny of laws that classify on the basis of sex. See United States v. Virginia, 518 U.S. 515, 531–533 (1996); J. E. B. v. Alabama ex rel. T. B., 511 U.S. 127, 136–137 (1994); Craig v. Boren, 429 U.S. 190, 197–199 (1976); Frontiero v. Richardson, 411 U.S. 677, 682–684 (1973) (plurality opinion); Reed v. Reed, 404 U.S. 71, 75–77 (1971). Over the last several decades, the Court has also decided many cases involving sexual orientation. But in those cases, the Court never suggested that sexual orientation discrimination is just a form of sex discrimination. All of the Court’s cases from Bowers to Romer to Lawrence to Windsor to Obergefell would have been far easier to analyze and decide if sexual orientation discrimination were just a form of sex discrimination and therefore received the same heightened scrutiny as sex discrimination under the Equal Protection Clause. See Bowers v. Hardwick, 478 U.S. 186 (1986); Romer v. Evans, 517 U.S. 620 (1996); Lawrence v. Texas, 539 U.S. 558 (2003); United States v. Windsor, 570 U.S. 744 (2013); Obergefell v. Hodges, 576 U.S. 644 (2015).

Did the Court in all of those sexual orientation cases just miss that obvious answer—and overlook the fact that sexual orientation discrimination is actually a form of sex discrimination? That seems implausible. Nineteen Justices have participated in those cases. Not a single Justice stated or even hinted that sexual orientation discrimination was just a form of sex discrimination and therefore entitled to the same heightened scrutiny under the Equal Protection Clause. The opinions in those five cases contain no trace of such reasoning. That is presumably because everyone on this Court, too, has long understood that sexual orientation discrimination is distinct from, and not a form of, sex discrimination.

In sum, all of the usual indicators of ordinary meaning—common parlance, common usage by Congress, the practice in the Executive Branch, the laws in the States, and the decisions of this Court—overwhelmingly establish that sexual orientation discrimination is distinct from, and not a form of, sex discrimination. The usage has been consistent across decades, in both the federal and state contexts.

Judge Sykes summarized the law and language this way: “To a fluent speaker of the English language—then and now—. . . discrimination ‘because of sex’ is not reasonably understood to include discrimination based on sexual orientation, a different immutable characteristic. Classifying people by sexual orientation is different than classifying them by sex. The two traits are categorically distinct and widely recognized as such. There is no ambiguity or vagueness here.” Hively, 853 F. 3d, at 363 (dissenting opinion).

To tie it all together, the plaintiffs have only two routes to succeed here. Either they can say that literal meaning overrides ordinary meaning when the two conflict. Or they can say that the ordinary meaning of the phrase “discriminate because of sex” encompasses sexual orientation discrimination. But the first flouts long-settled principles of statutory interpretation. And the second contradicts the widespread ordinary use of the English language in America.

II

Until the last few years, every U. S. Court of Appeals to address this question concluded that Title VII does not prohibit discrimination because of sexual orientation. As noted above, in the first 10 Courts of Appeals to consider the issue, all 30 federal judges agreed that Title VII does not prohibit sexual orientation discrimination. 30 out of 30 judges.[9]

The unanimity of those 30 federal judges shows that the question as a matter of law, as compared to as a matter of policy, was not deemed close. Those 30 judges realized a seemingly obvious point: Title VII is not a general grant of authority for judges to fashion an evolving common law of equal treatment in the workplace. Rather, Title VII identifies certain specific categories of prohibited discrimination. And under the separation of powers, Congress—not the courts—possesses the authority to amend or update the law, as Congress has done with age discrimination and disability discrimination, for example.

So what changed from the situation only a few years ago when 30 out of 30 federal judges had agreed on this question? Not the text of Title VII. The law has not changed. Rather, the judges’ decisions have evolved.

To be sure, the majority opinion today does not openly profess that it is judicially updating or amending Title VII. Cf. Hively, 853 F. 3d, at 357 (Posner, J., concurring). But the majority opinion achieves the same outcome by seizing on literal meaning and overlooking the ordinary meaning of the phrase “discriminate because of sex.” Although the majority opinion acknowledges that the meaning of a phrase and the meaning of a phrase’s individual words could differ, it dismisses phrasal meaning for purposes of this case. The majority opinion repeatedly seizes on the meaning of the statute’s individual terms, mechanically puts them back together, and generates an interpretation of the phrase “discriminate because of sex” that is literal. See ante, at 5–9, 17, 24–26. But to reiterate, that approach to statutory interpretation is fundamentally flawed. Bedrock principles of statutory interpretation dictate that we look to ordinary meaning, not literal meaning, and that we likewise adhere to the ordinary meaning of phrases, not just the meaning of words in a phrase. And the ordinary meaning of the phrase “discriminate because of sex” does not encompass sexual orientation discrimination.

The majority opinion deflects that critique by saying that courts should base their interpretation of statutes on the text as written, not on the legislators’ subjective intentions. Ante, at 20, 23–30. Of course that is true. No one disagrees. It is “the provisions of our laws rather than the principal concerns of our legislators by which we are governed.” Oncale v. Sundowner Offshore Services, Inc., 523 U.S. 75, 79 (1998).

But in my respectful view, the majority opinion makes a fundamental mistake by confusing ordinary meaning with subjective intentions. To briefly explain: In the early years after Title VII was enacted, some may have wondered whether Title VII’s prohibition on sex discrimination protected male employees. After all, covering male employees may not have been the intent of some who voted for the statute. Nonetheless, discrimination on the basis of sex against women and discrimination on the basis of sex against men are both understood as discrimination because of sex (back in 1964 and now) and are therefore encompassed within Title VII. Cf. id., at 78–79; see Newport News Shipbuilding & Dry Dock Co. v. EEOC, 462 U.S. 669, 682–685 (1983). So too, regardless of what the intentions of the drafters might have been, the ordinary meaning of the law demonstrates that harassing an employee because of her sex is discriminating against the employee because of her sex with respect to the “terms, conditions, or privileges of employment,” as this Court rightly concluded. Meritor Savings Bank, FSB v. Vinson, 477 U.S. 57, 64 (1986) (internal quotation marks omitted).[10]

By contrast, this case involves sexual orientation discrimination, which has long and widely been understood as distinct from, and not a form of, sex discrimination. Until now, federal law has always reflected that common usage and recognized that distinction between sex discrimination and sexual orientation discrimination. To fire one employee because she is a woman and another employee because he is gay implicates two distinct societal concerns, reveals two distinct biases, imposes two distinct harms, and falls within two distinct statutory prohibitions.

To be sure, as Judge Lynch appropriately recognized, it is “understandable” that those seeking legal protection for gay people “search for innovative arguments to classify workplace bias against gays as a form of discrimination that is already prohibited by federal law. But the arguments advanced by the majority ignore the evident meaning of the language of Title VII, the social realities that distinguish between the kinds of biases that the statute sought to exclude from the workplace from those it did not, and the distinctive nature of anti-gay prejudice.” 883 F. 3d, at 162 (dissenting opinion).

The majority opinion insists that it is not rewriting or updating Title VII, but instead is just humbly reading the text of the statute as written. But that assertion is tough to accept. Most everyone familiar with the use of the English language in America understands that the ordinary meaning of sexual orientation discrimination is distinct from the ordinary meaning of sex discrimination. Federal law distinguishes the two. State law distinguishes the two. This Court’s cases distinguish the two. Statistics on discrimination distinguish the two. History distinguishes the two. Psychology distinguishes the two. Sociology distinguishes the two. Human resources departments all over America distinguish the two. Sports leagues distinguish the two. Political groups distinguish the two. Advocacy groups distinguish the two. Common parlance distinguishes the two. Common sense distinguishes the two.

As a result, many Americans will not buy the novel interpretation unearthed and advanced by the Court today. Many will no doubt believe that the Court has unilaterally rewritten American vocabulary and American law—a “statutory amendment courtesy of unelected judges.” Hively, 853 F. 3d, at 360 (Sykes, J., dissenting). Some will surmise that the Court succumbed to “the natural desire that beguiles judges along with other human beings into imposing their own views of goodness, truth, and justice upon others.” Furman v. Georgia, 408 U.S. 238, 467 (1972) (Rehnquist, J., dissenting).

I have the greatest, and unyielding, respect for my colleagues and for their good faith. But when this Court usurps the role of Congress, as it does today, the public understandably becomes confused about who the policymakers really are in our system of separated powers, and inevitably becomes cynical about the oft-repeated aspiration that judges base their decisions on law rather than on personal preference. The best way for judges to demonstrate that we are deciding cases based on the ordinary meaning of the law is to walk the walk, even in the hard cases when we might prefer a different policy outcome.

*  *  *

In judicially rewriting Title VII, the Court today cashiers an ongoing legislative process, at a time when a new law to prohibit sexual orientation discrimination was probably close at hand. After all, even back in 2007—a veritable lifetime ago in American attitudes about sexual orientation—the House voted 235 to 184 to prohibit sexual orientation discrimination in employment. H. R. 3685, 110th Cong., 1st Sess. In 2013, the Senate overwhelmingly approved a similar bill, 64 to 32. S. 815, 113th Cong., 1st Sess. In 2019, the House voted 236 to 173 to amend Title VII to prohibit employment discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation. H. R. 5, 116th Cong., 1st Sess. It was therefore easy to envision a day, likely just in the next few years, when the House and Senate took historic votes on a bill that would prohibit employment discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation. It was easy to picture a massive and celebratory Presidential signing ceremony in the East Room or on the South Lawn.

It is true that meaningful legislative action takes time—often too much time, especially in the unwieldy morass on Capitol Hill. But the Constitution does not put the Legislative Branch in the “position of a television quiz show contestant so that when a given period of time has elapsed and a problem remains unsolved by them, the federal judiciary may press a buzzer and take its turn at fashioning a solution.” Rehnquist, The Notion of a Living Constitution, 54 Texas L. Rev. 693, 700 (1976). The proper role of the Judiciary in statutory interpretation cases is “to apply, not amend, the work of the People’s representatives,” even when the judges might think that “Congress should reenter the field and alter the judgments it made in the past.” Henson, 582 U. S., at ___–___ (slip op., at 10–11).

Instead of a hard-earned victory won through the democratic process, today’s victory is brought about by judicial dictate—judges latching on to a novel form of living literalism to rewrite ordinary meaning and remake American law. Under the Constitution and laws of the United States, this Court is the wrong body to change American law in that way. The Court’s ruling “comes at a great cost to representative self-government.” Hively, 853 F. 3d, at 360 (Sykes, J., dissenting). And the implications of this Court’s usurpation of the legislative process will likely reverberate in unpredictable ways for years to come.

Notwithstanding my concern about the Court’s transgression of the Constitution’s separation of powers, it is appropriate to acknowledge the important victory achieved today by gay and lesbian Americans. Millions of gay and lesbian Americans have worked hard for many decades to achieve equal treatment in fact and in law. They have exhibited extraordinary vision, tenacity, and grit—battling often steep odds in the legislative and judicial arenas, not to mention in their daily lives. They have advanced powerful policy arguments and can take pride in today’s result. Under the Constitution’s separation of powers, however, I believe that it was Congress’s role, not this Court’s, to amend Title VII. I therefore must respectfully dissent from the Court’s judgment.