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This document evaluates the U.S. Supreme Court's decision in the Hobby Lobby case regarding corporate purpose from the perspective of state corporate law. The authors argue that corporate law does not mandate profit maximization and that business corporations can pursue various objectives. the implications of this decision for corporate law and corporate theory, and identifies areas of uncertainty.
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By Lyman Johnson* and David Millon**
We evaluate the U.S. Supreme Court’s controversial decision in the Hobby Lobby case from the perspective of state corporate law. We argue that the Court is correct in holding that corporate law does not mandate that business corporations limit themselves to pursuit of profit. Rather, state law allows incorporation for any lawful purpose. We elaborate on this important point and also explain what it means for a corporation to “exercise religion.” In addition, we address the larger implications of the Court’s analysis for an accurate un- derstanding both of state law’s essentially agnostic stance on the question of corporate pur- pose and also of the broad scope of managerial discretion.
In a landmark June 30, 2014 ruling on religious liberty, 1 the United States Supreme Court spoke in unprecedented fashion to a foundational issue in cor- porate law, the question of corporate purpose. 2 To resolve a clash between two important federal statutes—the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act (“ACA”) 3 and the Religious Freedom Restoration Act (“RFRA”) 4 —the Court en- tered the very heart of state corporate law and addressed a debate that has raged for decades. 5 Rejecting the federal government’s position that “for-profit” busi- ness corporations cannot “exercise religion” because their sole purpose is to make money, 6 the Court in Burwell v. Hobby Lobby Stores, Inc. construed state corporate law as permitting a broad array of non-monetary objectives. 7 Thus, the Court reasoned, business corporations are “persons” under RFRA that can
“exercise religion” under that Act, 8 and it held that the ACA’s contraceptive man- date substantially burdened sincerely held religious beliefs. 9 The Hobby Lobby decision has generated enormous controversy in both legal and political circles, 10 and Justice Ginsburg authored a fierce and lengthy dis- sent.^11 Undoubtedly, in the months ahead, much scholarly attention will be de- voted to the intricacies of the Court’s RFRA analysis and what it reveals as to the Justices’ current thinking about religious liberty inside as well as outside the business setting. 12 This is an important subject, as is the policy issue of ensur- ing women’s access to contraceptive care under the ACA and to healthcare generally. 13 In this article we assess the implications of the Hobby Lobby decision from a corporate law perspective. The Supreme Court very rarely takes up corporate law issues of any kind and it has never spoken to the subject of corporate pur- pose. Without the Court’s threshold holding that, as a matter of state corporate law, business corporations can exercise religion because they need not solely pursue profits, 14 the RFRA claim in Hobby Lobby would have failed, and the ACA’s contraceptive mandate would not have been struck down. With that ex- pansive holding in Hobby Lobby, however, the consequences now radiate far be- yond the context of religious liberty, healthcare, and women’s rights. Quite sim- ply, by tackling for the first time the contentious issue of corporate purpose, the Supreme Court relaunched a stalled conversation and the Hobby Lobby decision will reverberate across corporate America. It will reshape fundamentally how business people, lawyers, legal and business scholars (particularly, corporate law professors), 15 as well as ordinary citizens, think about the permitted objec- tives of business corporations in a free society, objectives that extend far beyond
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burden a person’s exercise of religion, under RFRA, that person is entitled to an exemption unless the government “demonstrates that application of the burden to the person—(1) is in furtherance of a compelling governmental interest and (2) is the least restrictive means of furthering that compelling governmental interest.”^22 In 2000, Congress passed the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Per- sons Act of 2000, 23 which, among other things, broadened the definition of the phrase “exercise of religion” in RFRA to include “any exercise of religion, whether or not compelled by, or central to, a system of religious belief.” 24 Given the text of RFRA and the 2000 amendment, it is plain to see the impor- tance of the terms “person” and “exercise of religion” in determining the reach of that Act’s protection against governmental encroachments on religious liberty.
Congress enacted the ACA—sometimes referred to as “Obamacare”—in
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The Hobby Lobby decision was the culmination of litigation initiated by three business corporations and their shareholders against HHS. 32 In brief, they all ob- jected to the four contraceptive methods noted, although they had no objection to offering employee coverage for the sixteen other mandated methods of birth control. 33 The basis for the objection in all cases was a deeply held religious con- viction that these four methods were life-ending abortifacients. 34 The sincerity of these beliefs was never questioned by the government or any court. 35 Due to the objection, the corporations sought an exemption from the HHS mandate with respect to the four government-mandated contraceptive methods. The legal ground for seeking an exemption was RFRA. In each of the cases below, 36 the corporations themselves and their shareholders asserted that they were “persons” under RFRA and that the HHS contraception mandate substan- tially and impermissibly burdened their “exercise of religion.”
This company was organized in the late 1960s as an Oklahoma business cor- poration by David and Barbara Green, husband and wife, devout evangelical Christians. All of the voting stock is held by various family trusts, not directly by the Greens themselves. 37 The Greens and their adult children serve as trustees of the trusts and all were required to sign a statement of faith—called a Trust Commitment—before becoming trustees. 38 The express language of the trust in- strument itself also affirms the Christian faith. 39 Thus, the controlling sharehold- ers (the trusts), as well as the trustees who control the shareholder-trusts, each memorialized a commitment to the Christian faith. David Green and three of the Greens’ children serve as the four directors of Hobby Lobby. They also serve as the company’s senior executive officers. 40
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business corporation in the early 1960s. 49 The Hahns, members of a Mennonite denomination of Christians, own all of the company’s voting stock, and they serve as members of its board of directors.^50 One of their sons serves as the Pres- ident and CEO. 51 Conestoga’s board of directors adopted a Statement on the Sanctity of Life ex- pressing the view that “human life begins at conception.” 52 The company’s mis- sion, moreover, is articulated in a Vision and Values Statement affirming that the corporation will act to ensure a “reasonable profit” as gained in a “manner that reflects [a] Christian heritage.” 53 As with the Hobby Lobby and Mardel corpora- tions, the founders and directors of Conestoga Wood operate the company in accordance with sincerely held “religious beliefs and moral principles.” 54 The pursuit of profits, moreover, is stated not to be the sole purpose of Conestoga, and the company does not seek to maximize profits. Given the three companies’ rejection of profit maximization as a corporate ob- jective, 55 in their resistance to the contraception mandate a central question was whether a business corporation could even invoke the protection of RFRA by claiming to be a “person” that seeks to “exercise religion.” The federal govern- ment argued that so-called “for-profit” corporations neither are “persons” under RFRA, nor, given that they exist for the purpose of making money, could such companies “exercise religion.” 56 The issue was thus squarely joined on these questions, and, as Part III explains by way of background, this brought to the Supreme Court a longstanding and unendingly controversial issue of signal im- portance for corporate law: must business corporations act solely to maximize profits, or may they pursue other non-pecuniary objectives?
Corporate personhood and corporate purpose are related concepts. The idea of a corporation as a “person” expresses that the corporation possesses a separate legal identity, distinct from the persons associated with it. Corporate purpose
Corporate Law After Hobby Lobby 7
reflects the particular objective(s) sought to be achieved by cooperative human endeavor through the corporate form. Central to the Hobby Lobby case was whether business corporations are “persons” under RFRA, a federal statute, and if so, whether they have the power to “exercise” religion. As described in this Part, corporate personhood is well established, as is the broad power of cor- porations to pursue a range of corporate purposes besides profit maximization.
It is beyond dispute that corporations—business corporations as well as non- profit corporations—are persons in the eyes of the law. This means that they enjoy a legal status separate and distinct from the human beings who are asso- ciated with them. So, for example, corporations own property, enter into con- tracts, and commit torts. They can sue and be sued in their own right. They are subject to penalties if they violate applicable criminal laws. They must com- ply with a vast array of federal and state regulations. Unless tax-exempt status has been conferred upon them, they are subject to income tax liability on the net income generated by their commercial activities. Corporations also possess rights conferred upon them by state and federal statutes and enjoy certain state and federal constitutional protections. In other words, the rights and obli- gations of corporations are not simply those of their shareholders, officers, direc- tors, employees, or other humans who participate in or are affected by the cor- poration’s activities. Much ink has been spilled over the metaphysical question of the nature of cor- porate personality. 57 Are corporations entities in their own right or merely aggre- gations of human beings who are associated with each other in a joint endeavor? If they are entities, are they “natural” rather than merely “artificial”? We need not concern ourselves with these theoretical debates, noting only that corporate law unambiguously treats corporations as possessing distinct legal identities separate from the human beings who have chosen to act jointly through the device of incorporation. As creatures of positive law, corporate persons exist to pursue the purposes chosen by their human founders. State law specifies the purposes for which cor- porations may be organized. Importantly, it does little to limit the organizers’ choices. Delaware’s business corporation statute is typical in providing that “[a] corporation may be incorporated or organized under this chapter to conduct or promote any lawful business or purposes, except as may otherwise be pro- vided by the Constitution or other law of this State.” 58 As probed in greater depth in Part IV, the Pennsylvania and Oklahoma statutes governing the corpo- rations involved in the Hobby Lobby case are to the same effect, despite differ- ences in language. 59
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corporate powers, those human actors whom the law authorizes to act on the corporation’s behalf exercise corporate rights.
The question in the Hobby Lobby cases of whether RFRA applies to business corporations depends primarily on whether they are able to “exercise religion.” The fact that a fictitious legal entity cannot pray or attend a synagogue is irrele- vant to this question. If the corporation is empowered by state law to exercise religion, then it does so through its legally authorized representatives, just as it does when it exercises any other lawful power. The issue therefore is whether state corporate law authorizes business corpo- rations to exercise religion. As noted above, this is important because in Hobby Lobby the government argued that business corporations lack the lawful author- ity to do anything other than pursue financial gain. The argument resonates with the claims of conservative corporate law academics who assert that corporate law mandates profit maximization. According to this view, the financial interests of shareholders take precedence over all competing considerations. However, if state corporate law does not authorize the exercise of religion, religious obser- vance or activities would be proscribed even if they do not compromise share- holder financial interests or actually promote them. Thus, as background to the Hobby Lobby Court’s treatment of this issue, here we briefly describe state corporate law bearing on corporate purpose. State corporate law does not require corporations to prioritize profits over competing considerations. This fact has ramifications that extend far beyond the particular activities—religious observance—at issue in the Hobby Lobby cases. All business corporations (and non-profits too, for that matter) must gen- erate profit in order to survive. That is simply a fact of life. But corporate law confers on them broad discretion to determine the extent to which they choose to temper the pursuit of profit by regard for other values. Delaware corporate law, the most influential body of law for United States publicly held corporations, does not mandate shareholder wealth maximization. The statute says no such thing. There is virtually no judge-made precedent to that effect. One recent trial court opinion does speak of shareholder wealth max- imization as a statutory mandate, but the analysis is not persuasive and is not likely to be influential. 64 In deciding eBay’s suit against craigslist, Chancellor Chandler states that, “[h]aving chosen a for-profit corporate form, the craigslist directors are bound by the fiduciary duties and standards that accompany that form. Those standards include acting to promote the value of the corporation for the benefit of its stockholders.” 65 Chancellor Chandler then goes on to make a far stronger statement. Corporate policies that seek “not to maximize
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the economic value of a for-profit Delaware corporation for the benefit of its stockholders” are invalid. 66 In other words, not only is corporate management legally required to pursue profit, it must also seek to maximize the shareholders’ financial interests. The Court cites no statutory provision or case law in support of these sweeping assertions. The Delaware corporation statute includes no such mandate and does not even refer to corporations organized under it as “for- profit” entities, the phrase used by Chancellor Chandler. To the contrary, as noted in Subpart A above, the statute states expressly that “[a] corporation may be incorporated or organized under this chapter to conduct or promote any lawful business or purposes.”^67 No other Delaware Chancery or Supreme Court decision has squarely endorsed shareholder wealth maximization in the stark terms used by the court in this case. 68 Further, the court’s endorsement of shareholder wealth maximization in the craigslist case may have very limited relevance. The facts of the case were eccen- tric given the defensive measures adopted by the board of directors in that case; read narrowly, the opinion insists on the shareholder wealth maximization idea in a highly unusual case involving a closely held corporation whose founders had explicitly chosen to eschew profit in order to pursue a social mission. Thus the opinion might be read simply to condemn corporate policies that are entirely and expressly contrary to shareholder financial interests, although even then the decision lacks legal support. Such circumstances are rare to say the least; business corporations pursuing social missions at the expense of share- holder value are far more likely to sacrifice some amount of profit without reject- ing that objective entirely and are likely also to justify such policies with refer- ence to long-run shareholder financial interests, even if the claim is vague and not susceptible to proof. Under the business judgment rule, policies of this kind would not be condemned even if shareholder wealth maximization were the law. 69
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face of it like just the kind of decision that the business judgment rule ought to have protected. Delaware’s lack of commitment to shareholder wealth maximization is also ev- ident in various doctrines that insulate management from accountability to the corporation’s shareholders. As a practical matter, the demand requirement in de- rivative litigation, the business judgment rule, and the statutory provision for ex- culpation from monetary liability for breach of the duty of care^73 insulate man- agement from liability to shareholders except in cases involving severe conflict of interest or bad faith. Directors’ fiduciary duties are owed not to the shareholders alone but rather to “the corporation and its shareholders.” 74 Vague as this for- mulation might be, it does express the notion that management acts not only on behalf of the shareholders but also on behalf of the corporate entity as a whole; part of its job is to make choices in cases where corporate and share- holder interests diverge. As currently structured, except for atypical cases of co- ordinated institutional shareholder activism, the voting rights regime does not seriously threaten incumbent management of public companies because of col- lective action costs and rational apathy that discourage shareholder insurgency. Nor does the prospect of a hostile takeover create a strong incentive to maximize share value; Delaware common law accords target company boards of directors broad discretion to adopt potent defensive measures. 75 The Revlon duty 76 to maximize current share value arises only in a narrow range of circum- stances—certain sales of the company—that corporate boards are free to avoid if they so wish, and in contemporary practice the case is of limited significance for directors. 77 In our view, then, Delaware law is agnostic on the question of corporate purpose. Although dictum in Revlon mentions “benefits accruing to stockhold- ers” neither that case nor any other Supreme Court authority mandates share- holder wealth maximization outside the Revlon setting. Nor does it endorse a stakeholder-focused alternative, for example, by requiring that management somehow balance the competing interests of all the corporation’s various constit- uencies. To the contrary, we see Delaware as providing expressly for broad free- dom of choice as to corporate purpose. Those who form a corporation are free to specify particular purposes in the organizational documents, subject only to the requirement that those purposes be “lawful,”^78 or they can leave the matter open-ended, stating simply that “the purpose of the corporation is to engage in any lawful act or activity.” 79 In the latter case, it will be up to the board of
Corporate Law After Hobby Lobby 13
directors, exercising its statutory responsibility to direct the corporation’s “busi- ness and affairs,” 80 to determine questions of corporate purpose. 81 Beyond Delaware, the open-ended nature of corporate purpose is even more clear. A majority of states have enacted various versions of a “constituency stat- ute.” 82 These statutes empower—but do not require—corporate management to consider nonshareholder as well as shareholder interests in directing the corpo- ration’s business. Either expressly or by clear implication, they reject the share- holder wealth maximization conception of management responsibility, confer- ring broad discretion to sacrifice profits for alternative objectives. Despite the absence of persuasive legal authority, corporate law scholars fre- quently claim not only that the law requires shareholder wealth maximization but also that corporate law designates management as the agents of the corpora- tion’s shareholders. According to this view, the inevitable costs that arise when- ever a principal must rely on an agent—the likelihood of shirking and the need to monitor the agent’s performance—are termed “agency costs” and are a poten- tially significant drag on shareholder wealth. Like the maximization claim, the agency characterization also lacks legal foundation. In legal discourse, it is trace- able to the work of Daniel Fischel and Frank Easterbrook working at the Univer- sity of Chicago during the later part of the 1970s. 83 Drawing on an article by financial economists Michael Jensen and William Meckling, 84 first Professor Fischel and then Professor Fischel writing with Professor (later Judge) Easter- brook argued that the job of corporate management, as agent of the sharehold- ers, is to maximize the value of their investments in the corporation. 85 Although Jensen and Meckling used the agency idea in a non-legal sense and offered no legal basis for the agency characterization, Fischel and Easterbrook seized upon the agency cost idea and proceeded to analyze virtually all of corporate law from that perspective.^86 Since then, the shareholder wealth maximization assumption and the fixation on agency costs have taken root and flourished within the corporate law academy—despite some notable dissenters 87 —and has been described as “the dominant framework of analysis for corporate law
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corporation is “simply a form of organization used by human beings to achieve desired ends.” 95 Consequently, when rights are extended to corporations, “the purpose is to protect the rights of these people.” 96 Importantly, the Court stated that the rights of “these people” were those of the humans who “own and control those companies.” 97 The Court did not explain the basis for its equation of corporate rights with those of humans. Because of the potential for confusion, we believe this point warrants further explanation. The key idea is that the “rights” of “these people” to exercise religion that are protected by the statute are those rights to act that they possess in their corporate capacity. It is in the particular role of being “as- sociated with a corporation,” 98 including as “shareholders, officers, and employ- ees,”^99 that humans in the corporate context are protected by statutes conferring rights on corporations. Roles performed outside the corporate context give rise to no such protections any more than, by analogy, the same person playing baseball with eight others is engaged in the same activity—or has the same role, respon- sibilities, and objectives—as when playing soccer with eight others. Roles, orga- nizational structure, and the decisionmaking process are all quite different for humans interacting in the corporate setting than outside it. But the human desire to express religious convictions in the corporate milieu may be no less fervent, as Justice Kennedy’s concurrence underscored: plaintiffs “deem it necessary to ex- ercise their religious beliefs within the context of their own closely-held for- profit corporation.” 100 Analytically, in order to preserve the separateness of the corporation as a legal person distinct in a meaningful way from the humans associated with it, while still acknowledging their desires for religious expres- sion, the Court emphasized here, and throughout the opinion, the corporate ca- pacity and corporate positions and roles played by these humans. The Court thus upheld the institutional heft of the corporation as a distinct legal person under
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RFRA, and did not simply disregard it by making it indistinguishable from its human participants. This critical theoretical point could have been made far stronger and more readily comprehensible in either of two ways. First, the Court easily could have referred to the very corporate laws under which Hobby Lobby, Mardel, and Conestoga were incorporated, those of Oklahoma and Pennsylvania. Penn- sylvania’s statute, under which Conestoga was incorporated, provides a useful illustration. By statute, Pennsylvania corporations expressly are stated to have the same “legal capacity” as natural persons. 101 This is similar to section 3. of the Model Business Corporation Act, which confers on corporations “the same powers as an individual.” 102 Under Pennsylvania law, therefore, business corporations have both a distinct legal identity separate from the individuals in- volved in it and the legal capacity to do whatever natural persons can do. Be- cause it is not disputed that individuals are free to exercise religion, in having the same “legal capacity” as individuals, corporations also have the legal capacity to exercise religion. Having defined corporate power in these terms, the Pennsylvania statute,^103 again like the Model Business Corporation Act, 104 then provides that all such powers are to be “exercised by” the board of directors. Since only human beings can serve as directors of a corporation, when those humans act in their director capacity, they are acting in their corporate role, “exercising” corporate powers; they are not acting on their own behalf. As those humans exercise corporate functions, they can, of course, also “exercise” all of the myriad actions of reli- gious people in other settings—including praying, worshiping, and observing sacraments 105 —but, in doing so, they act in their representative “corporate” role and “corporate” capacity, as always is the case when a corporation’s board of directors acts within its lawful capacity. Thus, humans, alone or communally, can simultaneously “exercise” religion while “exercising” corporate functions. Here, 106 the very language (“exercise”) of religious liberty corresponds exactly with what humans do in directing corporate affairs.
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Perhaps the Court at times seemingly equates the statutory rights of the cor- porations involved in the Hobby Lobby case with those of their “owners and con- trollers” because, as we noted above, the directors exercise control over the cor- poration and thus advance its chosen purposes. In exercising corporate control, directors may be motivated by religious commitment. Or perhaps the Court em- phasizes shareholders because they first formed these entities in order to pursue religious as well as commercial objectives. Application of the statute certainly protects the interests of both overlapping groups of people, shareholders and di- rectors. While that observation is true, it is beside the point if, as in Hobby Lobby, the distinctive rights of the corporations themselves are at stake. When humans choose to associate with each other by forming a corporation, they create a legal entity whose rights and duties are separate and distinct from their own. When directors or the corporation’s agents act on its behalf, they act in their corpo- rate capacity and not as individuals. The existence or not of these corpora- tions’ statutory rights has nothing to do with whether particular humans are benefited. The idea of the corporation as a distinct rights-bearing entity—with rights that exist independently of those humans who are associated with it—might seem puzzling when the rights involve political speech or religious exercise, but it should not be. It is not any stranger than imagining a corporate person owning legal title to a building, filing a lawsuit in its name, or making a charitable dona- tion. In each of these cases, if state law empowers the corporation to act, the cor- poration does so through the actions of its lawfully designated human represen- tatives as carried out in accordance with the statutory governance structure. The key question therefore is whether the corporation possesses the power to act. This, of course, is a question for state corporate law, which long ago accorded broad powers to business corporations to do more than simply seek to maximize profits, as we explained in Part III.B. Despite the potentially confusing emphasis on the rights of the humans who direct the corporations’ affairs and own its stock, the Court’s analysis sufficiently accomplishes its chosen goal of recognizing corporate separateness as furthering the true aim of granting protection to natural persons, even if its treatment of this slippery but crucial notion could have been significantly strengthened in the ways we indicate. And, although the Court does not fully explain how the inter- ests of humans (and which ones) within a corporation are needed to support the conclusion that the corporation itself thereby is a rights-bearing person, there is little doubt that, as an alternative, it could have quite easily reached that conclu- sion without relying on that idea. The Court ended its brief “person” analysis by noting that the federal Diction- ary Act, which governed in the absence of RFRA’s own definition, clearly in- cluded “corporation” within the meaning of that word. 108 Given as well that non- profit corporations clearly have RFRA and free exercise rights, 109 a point the
Corporate Law After Hobby Lobby 19
government did not strenuously dispute, the Court saw no conceivable basis for including natural persons and non-profit corporations within the term “person” while excluding business corporations. 110 Overall, although it left much unex- plained, the Court had little trouble concluding that business corporations were “persons” under RFRA. This of course was consistent with the long-held understanding of state corporate law.
The chief argument made by HHS against the three companies was that they cannot “exercise religion” under RFRA. The nub of the argument, and one agreed with by several lower court judges, 111 was that RFRA does not protect business (“for-profit”) corporations “because the purpose of such corporations is simply to make money.” 112 According to this view, business corporations lack the power to exercise religion, not simply because religion can interfere with profit seeking but because religious exercise is unauthorized by state law without re- gard to whether it results in lower profits. That position, of course, does not merely preclude the exercise of religion; it precludes the pursuit of any and all other non-pecuniary goals as well. The Court dispatched this argument in a few short paragraphs, addressing for the first time an issue that has sharply divided scholars for decades. 113 The Court began by stating correctly that the government’s contention “flies in the face of modern corporate law.” 114 Acknowledging that although “a” central objective of business corporations is to “make” money, 115 the Court did not regard that as the only legally permissible goal. Instead, the Court noted that “modern cor- porate law does not require business corporations to pursue profit at the expense of everything else, and many do not do so.” 116 The Court observed that many business corporations support charitable causes and pursue humanitarian and altruistic objectives. 117 Notably, the Court did not say that corporations may ad- vance those objectives only as a means to maximize profits; nor did the Court say that doing so was in some way consistent with the overarching aim of making
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