In its October 2021 Term, the Supreme Court formalized what it calls the major questions doctrine. The doctrine, as currently formulated, appears to require a clear and specific statement from Congress if Congress intends to delegate questions of major political or economic significance to agencies. The doctrine has been almost universally assailed on the right by scholars who argue that the doctrine is inconsistent with textualism and on the left by those who claim it is a recently invented, functionalist tool devised to reach anti-administrativist results. One can explain at least some of the cases, however, in a way that constructs a coherent doctrine in which importance has a significant but narrow role in resolving interpretive questions involving ambiguity or uncertainty.
Thus understood, such a doctrine could be defensible, if not as a substantive canon, then as a kind of linguistic canon. Unlike other linguistic canons, such a canon would be about how people and lawmakers use language to accomplish results in a circumscribed range of contexts—namely, the delegation of important authorities, whether to other private actors, to government actors in the Constitution, or to government actors in the executive department. But unlike substantive canons, it would not relate to a substantive value encoded in the Constitution or in longstanding tradition. Existing empirical work about how legislators legislate, and insights from the philosophy of language, suggest that such a doctrine may be consistent with textualism, and historical research further reveals that a canon of this type may be a longstanding feature of constitutional and statutory interpretation in related contexts and in agency law. More provocatively, these same intuitions about importance may explain some substantive canons that are otherwise difficult for textualists to justify.
Introduction
In the Supreme Court’s 2021–2022 Term, the Court formalized what it has labeled the major questions doctrine. The doctrine, according to Chief Justice Roberts in West Virginia v. EPA, “refers to an identifiable body of law that has developed over a series of significant cases all addressing a particular and recurring problem: agencies asserting highly consequential power beyond what Congress could reasonably be understood to have granted.” Courts should have “skepticism” when statutes appear to delegate to agencies questions of major political and economic significance, which skepticism the government can only overcome “under the major questions doctrine” by “point[ing] to ‘clear congressional authorization’ to regulate in that manner.” According to Justices Gorsuch and Alito’s slightly different account, “courts have developed certain ‘clear-statement’ rules,” which “assume that, absent a clear statement otherwise, Congress means for its laws to operate in congruence with the Constitution rather than test its bounds.” “Article I’s Vesting Clause has its own” clear statement rule, namely, “the major questions doctrine.” Thus, taken at face value, the Court’s major questions doctrine insists at least on unambiguous statutory authority, and perhaps even unambiguous and specific authority.
The Court’s doctrine has been assailed by scholars and commentators both right and left. Many argue that the doctrine is inconsistent with textualism. Professor Michael Rappaport has said that the doctrine—at least on the face of the Court’s current language and justification—“neither enforces the Constitution nor applies ordinary methods of statutory interpretation” and “seems like a made up interpretive method for achieving a change in the law that the majority desires.” Professor Tom Merrill has written that the doctrine allows courts to “rewrite the scope of [agencies’] authority,” and that it “will invite judges to overturn agency initiatives based on reasons other than the court’s best judgment about what Congress has actually authorized the agency to do.” Professor Chad Squitieri: “The major questions doctrine is a product of legal pragmatism—a theory of statutory interpretation advanced by Justice Breyer which often elevates statutory purpose and consequences over text. The doctrine is inconsistent with textualism . . . .” And Professor Jonathan Adler: the doctrine allows the Court to deploy “cursory” and “hardly . . . compelling” arguments about statutory interpretation.
Others have been even more critical. Professors Daniel Deacon and Leah Litman argue that the doctrine “directs courts not to discern the plain meaning of a statute using the normal tools of statutory interpretation,” and that “otherwise unambiguous statutes may not be good enough when it comes to policies the Court deems ‘major.’” It “supplies an additional means for minority rule in a constitutional system that already skews toward minority rule,” “provides an additional mechanism for courts to exercise . . . political oversight,” and “could exacerbate institutional and political pathologies.” Professor Mila Sohoni writes that the major questions doctrine has “altered the doctrine of judicial review of agency action in its method and content, in ways that will have momentous consequences” and that create a “disjunction” between its current cases and prior precedents. It “creates deep conceptual uncertainty about what” the Court is doing. Professor Daniel Walters emphasizes “just how far the new major questions doctrine innovates with the conventional form of a substantive canon,” as the doctrine “in effect allows systemic departure from plausible readings of statutes on the basis of judicial values and preferences that are at best weakly tethered to higher sources of law.”
These criticisms are, to some if not a large extent, warranted. There are at least four versions of the doctrine that the Supreme Court has articulated, none of which appears as of yet fully defensible. The Court deploys one version at Chevron’s first step and another at Chevron’s preliminary “step zero.” To the uninitiated (if such there are), the famous Chevron doctrine requires a court to decide at “step one” whether an agency’s organic statute is ambiguous on the particular question at hand and, if so, at “step two” to defer to the agency’s reasonable interpretation even if not the “best” interpretation. “Step zero” cases then raise the question of whether to deploy the Chevron two-step framework at all. In this context, the doctrine is probably indefensible. At step one, the Court uses the doctrine to conclude that the statute is clear and unambiguous when in reality the statute is ambiguous and courts should have deferred to the agency under the framework. At step zero, the Court uses the doctrine to conclude that the framework should not apply at all and awkwardly appears to resolve the major question for itself.
A third version of the doctrine is somewhat like what Justices Gorsuch and Alito describe in West Virginia v. EPA. Perhaps the major questions doctrine is simply the nondelegation doctrine deployed as a canon of constitutional avoidance, or a blend of avoidance and a clear-statement requirement. Under the modern formulation, constitutional avoidance allows courts to adopt narrowing constructions of statutes when they have “serious doubt[s]” as to the statute’s constitutionality. This version of the doctrine would be hard to defend for two reasons. First, constitutional avoidance is generally indefensible: it allows courts to rewrite statutes without having to decide that the statute Congress wrote violates the Constitution. Second, even if the canon were otherwise legitimate, we would need to know what the serious constitutional doubt is, and thus far the Court has not explained what majorness has to do with nondelegation. That’s not to say there is no connection, but that the Court has not explicated it precisely because under constitutional avoidance it does not have to do so.
The fourth and most recent version, at least as most academics understand it, is that the doctrine is one among many clear statement rules, such as the demand for a clear statement to abrogate sovereign immunity, to apply the Administrative Procedure Act to the President, or to make regulatory requirements applicable to ships sailing under foreign flags. Major questions, at least as currently theorized, also seems a poor fit for this category. Ordinarily, clear statement rules exist to advance some constitutional value—like federalism or state sovereignty—and apply even against otherwise unambiguous statutes. But Congress can take the relevant action so long as it speaks clearly and specifically. That is, neither the best reading of a statute, nor an unambiguous statute, is enough; specificity is also required. In the major questions cases there is a constitutional value (nondelegation) that may be motivating the Court, but it is not fully clear how the canon relates to or advances the doctrine, and, if it does, whether Congress’s delegations would be constitutional even if it did speak clearly. The clear statement version also appears to allow courts to ignore a statute’s plain meaning.
There is a way to explain, if not all, then certainly some of the cases, however, that constructs a more coherent and defensible version of the doctrine. In each, the statute was plausibly ambiguous. And, in each, the Court can be understood to have resolved the ambiguity by adopting the narrower reading of the statute on the ground that, as a matter of legislative intent, it was more plausible to think that Congress intended the narrower reading. Thus, the Court arrived at what it deemed the best reading of the statute, and not necessarily a clear or unambiguous reading. It is also possible that the Court is demanding unambiguous, though not necessarily specific, statutory language; usually, the best reading of an otherwise ambiguous statute is that it does not do major, controversial things without being clearer about it. That is just another way of saying that “Congress . . . does not . . . hide elephants in mouseholes.” But sometimes a hole is elephant-sized, and the best reading of the statute suggests that it contains an elephant whether or not Congress was clear about it.
In other words, when the Court asks for a clear statement, it does not have to be understood as deploying the same concept as other clear statement rules—what some have called “super strong clear statement rules”—where both clarity and specificity are required. When certain constitutional values are at stake, as noted, the Court has held that the best or plain reading of a statute is not enough; the Court wants to make sure that Congress thought very clearly and explicitly about that particular issue. In the major questions context, in contrast, the Court may simply be concluding that the best reading of an otherwise ambiguous statute is one thing because it would have expected Congress to speak clearly if Congress had intended the other. Many substantive canons do operate this way—think the rule of lenity, which ambiguity triggers but which does not demand a clear and specific statement to override—but, as I shall argue, if major questions operates in this manner then it is possible to defend it as something other than a substantive canon.
True enough, there is language in the Court’s cases that militates against this account as a descriptive matter. The present objective is to suggest that it is at least possible to conceptualize a similar doctrine that centers on resolving ambiguity, would be more meritorious and consistent with textualism than other possible accounts, and might already exist in areas of constitutional and statutory interpretation and in agency law. It may also be driving the Court in its current cases, even if the Court has not been altogether clear about what it has been doing. On this conceptualization, the importance of a purported grant of authority would operate as a kind of linguistic canon: ordinarily, lawmakers and private parties tend to speak clearly, and interpreters tend to expect clarity, when those lawmakers or parties authorize others to make important decisions on their behalf.
Although “linguistic” in the sense that it is about how speakers use and interpret language, such an “importance canon” is unlike other linguistic canons; it is about how people and lawmakers use language in a circumscribed range of substantive contexts, namely, the delegation of important authorities to other parties. But it is unlike substantive canons; it does not flow from any substantive policy encoded in the Constitution or in longstanding tradition. One might call it a “quasi” linguistic canon, although the label does not much matter. Scholars have shown that the dividing line between linguistic and substantive canons is often thinner than traditionally believed, and there may be ambiguity-resolving canons that defy either the linguistic or substantive label, such as the longstanding and contemporaneous interpretation canon.
However labeled, such a canon may be consistent with textualism, and specifically with empirical evidence regarding how Congress operates, with insights from the philosophy of language regarding how ordinary persons interpret instructions in high-stakes contexts, with background principles of interpretation, and with historical materials from agency law and constitutional and statutory interpretation from the Founding to today. More provocatively, these arguments point to a more general conclusion about the role of importance in resolving interpretive questions. They suggest that certain substantive canons, such as the rule of lenity and the presumptions against preemption, retroactivity, and violations of international law, which are otherwise difficult for textualists to defend, could potentially be defended on the ground that the legal culture at the time of enactment considered certain matters “important” and therefore ordinary speakers would have expected more clarity before assuming related important actions had been authorized. At a minimum, the concept of “importance” has played a significant role in our legal system in resolving certain kinds of interpretive questions. That role ought to be better understood.
This Article proceeds as follows. Part I taxonomizes and criticizes four possible accounts of the major questions doctrine. The taxonomy supplied here, it is believed, provides more conceptual clarity than other taxonomies that have already been developed. It suggests throughout that it is at least possible to conceive of some of the cases as deploying a kind of linguistic “importance canon” to resolve statutory ambiguities.Part II then attempts to justify such a canon, regardless of what the Court has in fact been deploying. It argues that such a canon is consistent with empirical evidence on how legislators legislate, with insights from the philosophy of language about how interpreters understand language in related contexts, and possibly with the mischief rule; such a canon may also already be a longstanding feature of agency law and of constitutional and statutory interpretation in related contexts. Even if the Court has not been deploying such a canon, it would be more defensible than its existing approach. Part II concludes with some limitations of this approach—and some important differences between it and the similar approach that Justice Barrett has recently articulated—as well as the observation that the role of importance in resolving interpretive questions might provide some support for substantive canons that are otherwise difficult for textualists to justify.