delivered the opinion of the Court.

In sustaining a state criminal statute that forbids certain expenditures by banks and business corporations for the purpose of influencing the vote on referendum proposals, the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court held that the First Amendment rights of a corporation are limited to issues that materially affect its business, property, or assets. The court rejected appellants’ claim that the statute abridges freedom of speech in violation of the First and Fourteenth Amendments. The issue presented in this context is one of first impression in this Court. We postponed the question of jurisdiction to our consideration of the merits. 430 U. S. 964 (1977). We now reverse.

I

The statute at issue, Mass. Gen. Laws Ann., ch. 55, § 8 (West Supp. 1977), prohibits appellants, two national banking *768associations and three business corporations,1 from making contributions or expenditures “for the purpose of . . . influencing or affecting the vote on any question submitted to the voters, other than one materially affecting any of the property, business or assets of the corporation.” The statute further specifies that “[n]o question submitted to the voters solely concerning the taxation of the income, property or transactions of individuals shall be deemed materially to affect the property, business or assets of the corporation.” A corporation that violates § 8 may receive a maximum fine of $50,000; a corporate officer, director, or agent who violates the section may receive a maximum fine of $10,000 or imprisonment for up to one year, or both.2

*769Appellants wanted to spend money to publicize their views on a proposed constitutional amendment that was to be submitted to the voters as a ballot question at a general election on November 2,1976. The amendment would have permitted the legislature to impose a graduated tax on the income of individuals. After appellee, the Attorney General of Massachusetts, informed appellants that he intended to enforce § 8 against them, they brought this action seeking to have the statute declared unconstitutional. On April 26, 1976, the case was submitted to a single justice of the Supreme Judicial Court on an expedited basis and upon agreed facts, in order to settle the question before the upcoming election.3 Judgment was reserved and the case referred to the full court that same day.

*770Appellants argued that § 8 violates the First Amendment, the Due Process and Equal Protection Clauses of the Fourteenth Amendment, and similar provisions of the Massachusetts Constitution. They prayed that the statute be declared unconstitutional on its face and as it would be applied to their proposed expenditures. The parties’ statement of agreed facts reflected their disagreement as to the effect that the adoption of a personal income tax would have on appellants’ business; it noted that “[t]here is a division of opinion among economists as to whether and to what extent a graduated income tax imposed solely on individuals would affect the business and assets of corporations.” App. 17. Appellee did not dispute that appellants’ management believed that the tax would have a significant effect on their businesses.4

*771On September 22, 1976, the full bench directed the single justice to enter judgment upholding the constitutionality of § 8. An opinion followed on February 1,1977. In addressing appellants’ constitutional contentions,5 the court acknowledged that § 8 “operate [s] in an area of the most fundamental First Amendment activities,” Buckley v. Valeo, 424 U. S. 1, 14 (1976), and viewed the principal question as “whether business corporations, such as [appellants], have First Amendment rights coextensive with those of natural persons or associations of natural persons.” 371 Mass. 773, 783, 359 N. E. 2d 1262, 1269. The court found its answer in the .contours of a corporation’s constitutional right, as a “person” under the Fourteenth Amendment, not to be deprived of property without due process of law. Distinguishing the First Amendment rights of a natural person from the more limited rights of a corporation, the court concluded that “whether its rights are designated ‘liberty’ rights or ‘property’ rights, a corporation’s property and business interests are entitled to Fourteenth Amendment protection. . . . [A] s an incident of such protection, corporations also possess certain rights of speech and expression under the First Amendment.” Id., at 784, 359 N. E. 2d, at 1270 . (citations and footnote omitted). Accordingly, the court held that “only when a general political issue materially affects a corporation’s business, property or assets may that corporation claim First Amendment protection for its speech or other *772activities entitling it to communicate its position on that issue to the general public.” Since this limitation is “identical to the legislative command in the first sentence of [§8],” the court concluded that the legislature “has clearly identified in the challenged statute the parameters of corporate free speech.” Id., at 785, 359 N. E. 2d, at 1270.

The court also declined to say that there was “no rational basis for [the] legislative determination,” embodied in the second sentence of § 8, that a ballot question concerning the taxation of individuals could not materially affect the interests of a corporation. Id., at 786, 359 N. E. 2d, at 1271. In rejecting appellants’ argument that this second sentence established a conclusive presumption in violation of the Due Process Clause, the court construed § 8 to embody two distinct crimes: The first prohibits a corporation from spending money to influence the vote on a ballot question not materially affecting its business interests; the second, and more specific, prohibition makes it criminal per se for a corporation to spend money to influence the vote on a ballot question solely concerning individual taxation. While acknowledging that the second crime is “related to the general crime” stated in the first sentence of § 8, the court intimated that the second sentence was intended to make criminal an expenditure of the type proposed by appellants without regard to specific proof of the materiality of the question to the corporation’s business interests.6 Id., at 795 n. 19, 790-791, 359 N. E. 2d, at 1276 n. 19, *7731273-1274. The court nevertheless seems to have reintroduced the “materially affecting” concept into its interpretation of the second sentence of § 8, as a limitation on the scope of the so-called “second crime” imposed by the Federal Constitution rather than the Massachusetts Legislature. Id., at 786, 359 N. E. 2d, at 1271. But because the court thought appellants had not made a sufficient showing of material effect, their challenge to the statutory prohibition as applied to them also failed.

Appellants’ other arguments fared no better. Adopting a narrowing construction of the statute,7 the Supreme Judicial Court rejected the contention that § 8 is overbroad. It also found no merit in appellants’ vagueness argument because the specific prohibition against corporate expenditures on a referendum solely concerning individual taxation is “both precise and definite.” Id., at 791, 359 N. E. 2d, at 1273-1274. *774Finally, the court held that appellants were not denied the equal protection of the laws.8

II

Because the 1976 referendum has been held, and the proposed constitutional amendment defeated, we face at the outset a question of mootness. As the case falls within the class of controversies “capable of repetition, yet evading review,” Southern Pacific Terminal Co. v. ICC, 219 U. S. 498, 515 (1911), we conclude that it is not moot. Present here are both elements identified in Weinstein v. Bradford, 423 U. S. 147, 149 (1975), as precluding a finding of mootness in the absence of a class action: “(1) the challenged action was in its duration too short to be fully litigated prior to its cessation or expiration, and (2) there [is] a reasonable expectation that the same complaining party [will] be subjected to the same action again.”

Under no reasonably foreseeable circumstances could appellants obtain plenary review by this Court of the issue here presented in advance of a referendum on a similar' constitutional amendment. In each of the legislature’s four attempts to obtain constitutional authorization to enact a graduated income tax, including this most recent one, the period of time between legislative authorization of the proposal and its submission to the voters was approximately 18 months. This proved too short a period of time for appellants to obtain complete judicial review, and there is every reason to believe that any future suit would take at least as long. Furthermore, a decision allowing the desired expenditures would be an empty gesture unless it afforded appellants sufficient opportunity prior to the election date to communicate their views effectively.

Nor can there be any serious doubt that there is a “reasonable expectation,” Weinstein v. Bradford, supra, that appel*775lants again will be subject to the threat of prosecution under § 8. The 1976 election marked the fourth time in recent years that a proposed graduated income tax amendment has been submitted to the Massachusetts voters. Appellee’s suggestion that the legislature may abandon its quest for a constitutional amendment is purely speculative.9 Appellants insist that they will continue to oppose the constitutional amendment, and there is no reason to believe that the Attorney General will refrain from prosecuting violations of § 8.10 Compare Nebraska Press Assn. v. Stuart, 427 U. S. 539, 546-547 (1976), with Spomer v. Littleton, 414 U. S. 514, 521 (1974).

Meanwhile, § 8 remains on the books as a complete prohibition of corporate expenditures related to individual tax referenda, and as a restraining influence on corporate expenditures concerning other ballot questions. The criminal penalties of § 8 discourage challenge by violation, and the effect of the statute on arguably protected speech will persist. Storer v. Brown, 415 U. S. 724, 737 n. 8 (1974); see American Party of Texas v. White, 415 U. S. 767, 770 n. 1 (1974); Rosario v. Rockefeller, 410 U. S. 752, 756 n. 5 (1973); Dunn v. Blumstein, 405 U. S. 330, 333 n. 2 (1972). Accordingly, we conclude that this cáse is not moot and proceed to address the merits.

Ill

The court below framed the principal question in this case as whether and to what extent corporations have First Amend*776ment rights. We believe that the court posed the wrong question. The Constitution often protects interests broader than those of the party seeking their vindication. The First Amendment, in particular, serves significant societal interests. The proper question therefore is not whether corporations “have” First Amendment rights and, if so, whether they are coextensive with those of natural persons. Instead, the question must be whether § 8 abridges expression that the First Amendment was meant to protect. We hold that it does.

A

The speech proposed by appellants is at the heart of the First Amendment’s protection.

“The freedom of speech and of the press guaranteed by the Constitution embraces at the least the liberty to discuss publicly and truthfully all matters of public concern without previous restraint or fear of subsequent punishment.. .. Freedom of discussion, if it would fulfill its historic function in this nation, must embrace all issues about which information is needed or appropriate to enable the members of society to cope with the exigencies of their period.” Thornhill v. Alabama, 310 U. S. 88, 101-102 (1940).

The referendum issue that appellants wish to address falls squarely within this description. In appellants’ view, the enactment of a graduated personal income tax, as proposed to be authorized by constitutional amendment, would have a seriously adverse effect on the economy of the State. See n. 4, supra. The importance of the referendum issue to the people and government of Massachusetts is not disputed. Its merits, however, are the subject of sharp disagreement.

As the Court said in Mills v. Alabama, 384 U. S. 214, 218 (1966), “there is practically universal agreement that á major purpose of [the First] Amendment was to protect the free *777discussion of governmental affairs.” If the speakers here were not corporations, no one would suggest that the State could silence their proposed speech. It is the type of speech indispensable to decisionmaking in a democracy,11 and this is no less true because the speech comes from a corporation rather than an individual.12 The inherent worth of the speech in terms of its capacity for informing the public does not depend upon the identity of its source, whether corporation, association, union, or individual.

The court below nevertheless held that corporate speech is protected by the First Amendment only when it pertains directly to the corporation’s business interests. In deciding whether this novel and restrictive gloss on the First Amendment comports with the Constitution and the precedents of this Court, we need not survey the outer boundaries of the Amendment’s protection of corporate speech, or address the abstract question whether corporations have the full measure of rights that individuals enjoy under the First Amendment.13 *778The question in this case, simply put, is whether the corporate identity of the speaker deprives this proposed speech of what otherwise would be its clear entitlement to protection. We turn now to that question.

B

The court below found confirmation of the legislature’s definition of the scope of a corporation’s First Amendment rights in the language of the Fourteenth Amendment. Noting that the First Amendment is applicable to the States through the Fourteenth, and seizing upon the observation that corporations “cannot claim for themselves the liberty which the Fourteenth Amendment guarantees,” Pierce v. Society of Sisters, 268 U. S. 510, 535 (1925), the court concluded that a corporation’s First Amendment rights must derive from its property rights under the Fourteenth.14

*779This is an artificial mode of analysis, untenable under decisions of this Court.

“In a series of decisions beginning with Gitlow v. New York, 268 U. S. 652 (1925), this Court held that the liberty of speech and of the press which the First Amendment guarantees against abridgment by the federal government is within the liberty safeguarded by the Due Process Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment from invasion by state action. That principle has been followed and reaffirmed to the present day.” Joseph Burstyn, Inc. v. Wilson, 343 U. S. 495, 500-501 (1952) (footnote omitted) (emphasis supplied).

*780Freedom of speech and the other freedoms encompassed by the First Amendment always have been viewed as fundamental components of the liberty safeguarded by the Due Process Clause, see Gitlow v. New York, 268 U. S. 652, 666 (1925) (opinion of the Court); id., at 672 (Holmes, J., dissenting); NAACP v. Alabama ex rel. Patterson, 357 U. S. 449, 460 (1958); Stromberg v. California, 283 U. S. 359, 368 (1931); De Jonge v. Oregon, 299 U. S. 353, 364 (1937); Warren, The New “Liberty” Under the Fourteenth Amendment, 39 Harv. L. Rev. 431 (1926), and the Court has not identified a separate source for the right when it has been asserted by corporations.15 See, e. g., Times Film Corp. v. Chicago, 365 U. S. 43, 47 (1961); Kingsley Int’l Pictures Corp. v. Regents, 360 U. S. 684, 688 (1959); Joseph Burstyn, supra. In Grosjean v. American Press Co., 297 U. S. 233, 244 (1936), the Court rejected the very reasoning adopted by the Supreme Judicial Court and did not rely on the corporation's property rights under the Fourteenth Amendment in sustaining its freedom of speech.16

*781Yet appellee suggests that First Amendment rights generally have been afforded only to corporations engaged in the communications business or through which individuals express themselves, and the court below apparently accepted the “materially affecting” theory as the conceptual common denominator between appellee’s position and the precedents of this Court. It is true that the “materially affecting” requirement would have been satisfied in the Court’s decisions affording protection to the speech of media corporations and corporations otherwise in the business of communication or entertainment, and to the commercial speech of business corporations. See cases cited in n. 14, supra. In such cases, the speech would be connected to the corporation’s business almost by definition. But the effect on the business of the corporation was not the governing rationale in any of these decisions. None of them mentions, let alone attributes significance to, the fact that the subject of the challenged communication materially affected the corporation’s business.

The press cases emphasize the special and constitutionally recognized role of that institution in informing and educating the public, offering criticism, and providing a forum for discussion and debate.17 Mills v. Alabama, 384 U. S., at 219; see *782Saxbe v. Washington Post Co., 417 U. S. 843, 863-864 (1974) (Powell, J., dissenting). But the press does not have a monopoly on either the First Amendment or the ability to enlighten.18 Cf. Buckley v. Valeo, 424 U. S., at 51 n. 56; *783Red Lion Broadcasting Co. v. FCC, 395 U. S. 367, 389-390 (1969); New York Times Co. v. Sullivan, 376 U. S. 254, 266 (1964); Associated Press v. United States, 326 U. S. 1, 20 (1945). Similarly, the Court’s decisions involving corporations in the business of communication or entertainment are based not only on the role of the First Amendment in fostering individual self-expression but also on its role in affording the public access to discussion, debate, and the dissemination of information and ideas.19 See Red Lion Broadcasting Co. v. FCC, supra; Stanley v. Georgia, 394 U. S. 557, 564 (1969); Time, Inc. v. Hill, 385 U. S. 374, 389 (1967). Even decisions seemingly based exclusively on the individual’s right to express himself acknowledge that the expression may contribute to society’s edification. Winters v. New York, 333 U. S. 507, 510 (1948).

Nor do our recent commercial speech cases lend support to appellee’s business interest theory. They illustrate that the First Amendment goes beyond protection of the press and the self-expression of individuals to prohibit government from limiting the stock of information from which members of the public may draw. A commercial advertisement is constitutionally protected not so much because it pertains to' the seller’s business as because it furthers the societal interest in the “free flow of commercial information.” Virginia State Bd. of Pharmacy v. Virginia Citizens Consumer Council, 425 U. S. 748, 764 (1976); see Linmark Associates, Inc. v. Willingboro, 431 U. S. 85,95 (1977).20

*784C

We thus find no support in the First or Fourteenth Amendment, or in the decisions of this Court, for the proposition that speech that otherwise would be within the protection of the First Amendment loses that protection simply because its source is a corporation that cannot prove, to the satisfaction of a court, a material effect on its business or property. The “materially affecting” requirement is not an identification of the boundaries of corporate speech etched by the Constitution itself. Rather, it amounts to an impermissible legislative prohibition of speech based on the identity of the interests that spokesmen may represent in public debate over controversial issues and a requirement that the speaker have a sufficiently great interest in the subject to justify communication.

Section 8 permits a corporation to communicate to the public its views on certain referendum subjects — those materially affecting its business — but not others. It also singles out one kind of ballot question — individual, taxation — as a subject about which corporations may never make their ideas public. The legislature has drawn the line between permissible and impermissible speech according to whether there is a sufficient nexus, as defined by the legislature, between the issue presented to the voters and the business interests of the speaker.

In the realm of protected speech, the legislature is consti*785tutionally disqualified from dictating the subjects about which persons may speak and the speakers who may address a public issue. Police Dept. of Chicago v. Mosley, 408 U. S. 92, 96 (1972). If a legislature may direct business corporations to “stick to business,” it also may limit other corporations— religious, charitable, or civic — to their respective “business” when addressing the public. Such power in government to channel the expression of views is unacceptable under the First Amendment.21 Especially where, as here, the legislature’s suppression of speech suggests an attempt to give one side of a debatable public question an advantage in expressing its views to the people,22 the First Amendment is *786plainly offended. Yet the State contends that its action is necessitated by governmental interests of the highest order. We next consider these asserted interests.

IV

The constitutionality of § 8’s prohibition of the “exposition of ideas” by corporations turns on whether it can survive the exacting scrutiny necessitated by a state-imposed restriction of freedom of speech. Especially where, as here, a prohibition is directed at speech itself,23 and the speech is intimately related to the process of governing, “the State may prevail only upon showing a subordinating interest which is compelling,” Bates v. Little Rock, 361 U. S. 516, 524 (1960); see NAACP v. Button, 371 U. S. 415, 438-439 (1963); NAACP v. Alabama ex rel. Patterson, 357 U. S., at 463; Thomas v. Collins, 323 U. S. 516, 530 (1945), “and the burden is on the government to show the existence of such an interest.” Elrod v. Burns, 427 U. S. 347, 362 (1976). Even then, the State must employ means “closely drawn to avoid unnecessary abridgment. ...” Buckley v. Valeo, 424 U. S., at 25; see NAACP v. Button, supra, at 438; Shelton v. Tucker, 364 U. S. 479, 488 (1960).

The Supreme Judicial Court did not subject § 8 to “the critical scrutiny demanded under accepted First Amendment *787and equal protection principles,” Buckley, supra, at 11, because of its view that the First Amendment does not apply to appellants’ proposed speech.24 For this reason the court did not even discuss the State’s interests in considering appellants’ First Amendment argument. The court adverted to the conceivable interests served by § 8 only in rejecting appellants’ equal protection claim.25 Appellee nevertheless advances two principal justifications for. the prohibition of corporate speech. The first is the State’s interest in sustaining the active role of the individual citizen in the electoral process and thereby preventing diminution of the citizen’s confidence in government. The second is the interest in protecting the rights of shareholders whose views differ from those expressed by management on behalf of the corporation. However weighty these interests may be in the context of partisan candidate elect*788ions,26 they either are not implicated in this case or are not served at all, or in other than a random manner, by the prohibition in § 8.

A

f Preserving the integrity of the electoral process, preventing ^corruption, and “sustain [ing] the active, alert responsibility *789of the individual citizen in a democracy for the wise conduct of government”27 are interests of the highest importance. Buckley, supra; United States v. Automobile Workers, 352 U. S. 567, 570 (1957); United States v. CIO, 335 U. S. 106, 139 (1948) (Rutledge, J., concurring); Burroughs v. United States, 290 U. S. 534 (1934). Preservation of the individual citizen’s confidence in government is equally important. Buckley, supra, at 27; CSC v. Letter Carriers, 413 U. S. 548, 565 (1973).

Appellee advances a number of arguments in support of his view that these interests are endangered by corporate participation in discussion of a referendum issue. They hinge upon the assumption that such participation would exert an undue influence on the outcome of a referendum vote, and — • in the end — destroy the confidence of the people in the democratic process and the integrity of government. According to appellee, corporations are wealthy and powerful and their views may drown out other points of view. If appellee’s arguments were supported by record or legislative findings that corporate advocacy threatened imminently to undermine democratic processes, thereby denigrating rather than serving First Amendment interests, these arguments would merit our consideration. Cf. Red Lion Broadcasting Co. v. FCC, 395 U. S. 367 (1969). But there has been no showing that the relative voice of corporations has been overwhelming or even significant in influencing referenda in Massachusetts,28 or that *790there has been any threat to the confidence of the citizenry in government. Cf. Wood v. Georgia, 370 U. S. 375, 388 (1962).

Nor are appellee’s arguments inherently persuasive or supported by the precedents of this Court. Referenda are held on issues, not candidates for public -office. The risk of corruption perceived in cases involving candidate elections, e. g., United States v. Automobile Workers, supra; United States v. CIO, supra, simply is not present in a popular vote on a public issue.29 To be sure, corporate advertising may influence the outcome of the vote; this would be its purpose. But the fact that advocacy may persuade the electorate is hardly a reason to suppress it: The Constitution “protects expression which is eloquent no less than that which is unconvincing.” Kingsley Int’l Pictures Corp. v. Regents, 360 U. S., at 689. We noted only recently that “the concept that government may restrict the speech of some elements of our society in order *791to enhance the relative voice of others is wholly foreign to the First Amendment . . . Buckley, 424 U. S., at 48-49.30 Moreover, the people in our democracy are entrusted with the responsibility for judging and evaluating the relative merits of conflicting arguments.31 They may consider, in making their *792judgment, the source and credibility of the advocate.32 But if there be any danger that the people cannot evaluate the information and arguments advanced by appellants, it is a danger contemplated by the Framers of the First Amendment. Wood v. Georgia, supra. In sum, “[a] restriction so destructive of the right of public discussion [as § 8], without greater or more imminent danger to the public interest than existed in this case, is incompatible with the freedoms secured by the First Amendment.” 33

B

Finally, appellee argues that § 8, protects corporate shareholders, an interest that is both legitimate and traditionally within the province of state law. Cort v. Ash, 422 U. S. 66, 82-84 (1975). The statute is said to serve this interest by preventing the use of corporate resources in furtherance of *793views with which some shareholders may disagree. This purpose is belied, however, by the provisions of the statute, which are both underinclusive and overinclusive.

The underinclusiveness of the statute is self-evident. Corporate expenditures with respect to a referendum are prohibited, while corporate activity with respect to the passage or defeat of legislation is permitted, see n. 31, supra, even though corporations may engage in lobbying more often than they take positions on ballot questions submitted to the voters. Nor does § 8 prohibit a corporation from expressing its views, by the expenditure of corporate funds, on any public issue until it becomes the subject of a referendum, though the displeasure of disapproving shareholders is unlikely to be any less.

The fact that a particular kind of ballot question has been singled out for special treatment undermines the likelihood of a genuine state interest in protecting shareholders. It suggests instead that the legislature may have been concerned with silencing corporations on a particular subject. Indeed, appellee has conceded that “the legislative and judicial history of the statute indicates . . . that the second crime was ‘tailor-made' to prohibit corporate campaign contributions to' oppose a graduated income tax amendment." Brief for Appellee 6.

Nor is the fact that § 8 is limited to banks and business corporations without relevance. Excluded from its provisions and criminal sanctions are entities or organized groups in which numbers of persons may hold an interest or membership, and which often have resources comparable to those of large corporations. Minorities in such groups or entities may have interests with respect to institutional speech quite comparable to those of minority shareholders in a corporation. Thus the exclusion of Massachusetts business trusts, real estate investment trusts, labor unions, and other associations undermines the plausibility of the State’s purported concern for the persons who happen to be shareholders in the banks and corporations covered by § 8.

*794The overinclusiveness of the statute is demonstrated by the fact that § 8 would prohibit a corporation from supporting or opposing a referendum proposal even if its shareholders unanimously authorized the contribution or expenditure. Ultimately shareholders may decide, through the procedures of corporate democracy, whether their corporation should engage in debate on public issues.34 Acting through their power to elect *795the board of directors or to insist upon protective provisions in the corporation’s charter, shareholders normally are presumed competent to protect their own interests. In addition to intracorporate remedies, minority shareholders generally have access to the judicial remedy of a derivative suit to challenge corporate disbursements alleged to have been made for improper corporate purposes or merely to further the personal interests of management.

Assuming, arguendo, that protection of shareholders is a “compelling” interest under the circumstances of this case, we find “no substantially relevant correlation between the governmental interest asserted and the State’s effort” to prohibit appellants from speaking. Shelton v. Tucker, 364 U. S., at 485.

V

Because that portion of § 8 challenged by appellants prohibits protected speech in a manner unjustified by a compelling state interest, it must be invalidated. The judgment of the Supreme Judicial Court is

Reversed.

with whom Mr. Justice Brennan and Mr. Justice Marshall join, dissenting.

The Massachusetts statute challenged here forbids the use of corporate funds to publish views about referenda issues having no material effect on the business, property, or assets of *803the corporation. The legislative judgment that the personal income tax issue, which is the subject of the referendum out of which this case arose, has no such effect was sustained by the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts and is not disapproved by this Court today. Hence, as this case comes to us, the issue is whether'a State may prevent corporate management from using the corporate treasury to propagate views having no connection with the corporate business. The Court commendably enough squarely faces the issue but unfortunately errs in deciding it. The Court invalidates the Massachusetts statute and holds that the First Amendment guarantees corporate managers the right to use not only their personal funds, but also those of the corporation, to circulate fact and opinion irrelevant to the business placed in their charge and necessarily representing their own personal or collective views about political and social questions. I do not suggest for a moment that the First Amendment requires a State to forbid such use of corporate funds, but I do strongly disagree that the First Amendment forbids state interference with managerial decisions of this kind.

By holding that Massachusetts may not prohibit corporate expenditures or contributions made in connection with referenda involving issues having no material connection with the corporate business, the Court not only invalidates a statute which has been on the books in one form or another for many years, but also casts considerable doubt upon the constitutionality of legislation passed by some 31 States restricting corporate political activity,1 as well as upon the Federal Corrupt Practices Act, 2 U. S. C. § 441b (1976 ed.). The Court's fundamental error is its failure to realize that the state regulatory interests in terms of which the alleged curtailment *804of First Amendment rights accomplished by the statute must be evaluated are themselves derived from the First Amendment. The question posed by this case, as approached by the Court, is whether the State has struck the best possible balance, i. e., the one which it would have chosen, between competing First Amendment interests. Although in my view the choice made by the State would survive even the most exacting scrutiny, perhaps a rational argument might be made to the contrary. What is inexplicable, is for the Court to substitute its judgment as to the proper balance for that of Massachusetts where the State has passed legislation reasonably designed to further First Amendment interests in the context of the political arena where the expertise of legislators is at its peak and that of judges is at its very lowest.2 Moreover, the result reached today in critical respects marks a drastic departure from the Court’s prior decisions which have protected against governmental infringement the very First Amendment interests which the Court now deems inadequate to justify the Massachusetts statute.

I

There is now little doubt that corporate communications come within the scope of the First Amendment. This, however, is merely the starting point of analysis, because an examination of the First Amendment values that corporate expression furthers and the threat to the functioning of a free society it is capable of posing reveals that it is not fungible with communications emanating from individuals and is subject to restrictions which individual expression is not. Indeed, what some have considered to' be the principal function of the First Amendment, the use of communication as a means of self-expression, self-realization, and self-fulfillment, is not at all *805furthered by corporate speech.3 It is clear that the communications of profitmaking corporations are not “an integral part of the development of ideas, of mental exploration and of the affirmation of self.” 4 They do not represent a manifestation of individual freedom or choice. Undoubtedly, as this Court has recognized, see NAACP v. Button, 371 U. S. 415 (1963), there are some corporations formed for the express purpose of advancing certain ideological causes shared by all their members, or, as in the case of the press, of disseminating information and ideas. Under such circumstances, association in a corporate form may be viewed as merely a means of achieving effective self-expression. But this is hardly the case generally with corporations operated for the purpose of making profits. Shareholders in such entities do not share a common set of political or social views, and they certainly have not invested their money for the purpose of advancing political or social causes or in an enterprise engaged in the business of disseminating news and opinion. In fact, as discussed infra, the government has a strong interest in assuring that investment decisions are not predicated upon agreement or disagreement with the activities of corporations in the political arena.

Of course, it may be assumed that corporate investors are united by a desire to make money, for the value of their investment to increase. Since even communications which have no purpose other than that of enriching the communicator have some First Amendment protection, activities such as advertising and other communications integrally related to the operation of the corporation’s business may be viewed as a means of furthering the desires of individual shareholders.5 This unanimity of purpose breaks down, however, when corporations make expenditures or undertake activities designed *806to influence the opinion or votes of the general public on political and social issues that have no material connection with or effect upon their business, property, or assets. Although it is arguable that corporations make such expenditures because their managers believe that it is in the corporations’ economic interest to do so, there is no basis whatsoever for concluding that these views are expressive of the heterogeneous beliefs of their shareholders whose convictions on many political issues are undoubtedly shaped by considerations other than a desire to endorse any electoral or ideological cause which would tend to increase the value of a particular corporate investment. This is particularly true where, as in this case, whatever the belief of the corporate managers may be, they have not been able to demonstrate that the issue involved has any material connection with the corporate business. Thus when a profitmaking corporation contributes to a political candidate this does not further the self-expression or self-fulfillment of its shareholders in the way that expenditures from them as individuals would.6

The self-expression of the communicator is not the only value encompassed by the First Amendment. One of its functions, often referred to as the right to hear or receive information, is to protect the interchange of ideas. Any communication of ideas, and consequently any expenditure of funds which makes the communication of ideas possible, it *807can be argued, furthers the purposes of the First Amendment. This proposition does not establish, however, that the right of the general public to receive communications financed by-means of corporate expenditures is of the same dimension as that to hear other forms of expression. In the first place, as discussed supra, corporate expenditures designed to further political causes lack the connection with individual self-expression which is one of the principal justifications for the constitutional protection of speech provided by the First Amendment. Ideas which are not a product of individual choice are entitled to less First Amendment protection. Secondly, the restriction of corporate speech concerned with political matters impinges much less severely upon the availability of ideas to the general public than do restrictions upon individual speech. Even the complete curtailment of corporate communications concerning political or ideological questions not integral to day-to-day business functions would leave individuals, including corporate shareholders, employees, and customers, free to communicate their thoughts-. Moreover, it is unlikely that any significant communication would be lost by such a prohibition. These individuals would remain perfectly free to communicate any ideas which could be conveyed by means of the corporate form. Indeed, such individuals could even form associations for the very purpose of promoting political or ideological causes.7

I recognize that there may be certain communications undertaken by corporations which could not be restricted without impinging seriously upon the right to receive information. In the absence of advertising and similar promotional activities, for example, the ability of consumers to obtain information relating to products manufactured by cor*808porations would be significantly impeded. There is also a need for employees, customers, and shareholders of corporations to be able to receive communications about matters relating to the functioning of corporations. Such communications are clearly desired by all investors and may well be viewed as an associational form of self-expression. See United States v. CIO, 335 U. S. 106, 121-123 (1948). Moreover, it is unlikely that such information would be disseminated by sources other than corporations. It is for such reasons that the Court has extended a certain degree of First Amendment protection to activities of this kind.8 None of these considerations, however, are implicated by a prohibition upon corporate expenditures relating to referenda concerning questions of general public concern having no connection with corporate business affairs.

It bears emphasis here that the Massachusetts statute forbids the expenditure of corporate funds in connection with referenda but in no way forbids the board of directors of a corporation from formulating and making public what it represents as the views of the corporation even though the subject addressed has no material effect whatsoever on the business of the corporation. These views could be publicized at the indi*809vidual expense of the officers, directors, stockholders, or anyone else interested in circulating the corporate view on matters irrelevant to its business.

The governmental interest in regulating corporate political communications, especially those relating to electoral matters, also raises considerations which differ significantly from those governing the regulation of individual speech. Corporations are artificial entities created by law for the purpose of furthering certain economic goals. In order to facilitate the achievement of such ends, special rules relating to such matters as limited liability, perpetual life, andcthe accumulation, distribution, and taxation of assets are normally applied to them. States have provided corporations with such attributes in order to increase their economic viability and thus strengthen the economy generally. It has long been recognized, however, that the special status of corporations has placed them in a position to control vast amounts of economic power which may, if not regulated, dominate not only the economy but also the very heart of our democracy, the electoral process. Although Buckley v. Valeo, 424 U. S. 1 (1976), provides support for the position that the desire to equalize the financial resources available to candidates does not justify the limitation upon the expression of support which a restriction upon individual contributions entails,9 the interest of Massachusetts and the many other States which have restricted corporate political activity is quite different. It is not one of equalizing the resources of opposing candidates or opposing positions, but rather of preventing institutions which have been permitted to amass wealth as a result of special advantages extended by the State for certain economic purposes from using that wealth to acquire an unfair advantage in the political process, especially where, as here, the issue involved has no material connection with the business of the corporation. The State need not permit its own creation to consume it. Massachusetts could *810permissibly conclude that not to impose limits upon the political activities of corporations would have placed it in a position of departing from neutrality and indirectly assisting the propagation of corporate views because of the advantages its laws give to the corporate acquisition of funds to finance such activities. Such expenditures may be viewed as seriously threatening the role of the First Amendment as a guarantor of a free marketplace of ideas. Ordinarily, the expenditure of funds to promote political causes may be assumed to bear some relation to the fervency with which they are held. Corporate political expression, however, is not only divorced from the convictions of individual corporate ■ shareholders, but also, because of the ease with which corporations are permitted to accumulate capital, bears no relation to the conviction with which the ideas expressed are held by the communicator.10

The Court’s opinion appears to recognize at least the possibility that fear of corporate domination of the electoral process would justify restrictions upon corporate expenditures and contributions in connection with referenda but brushes this interest aside by asserting that “there has been no showing that the relative voice of corporations has been overwhelming or even significant in influencing referenda in Massachusetts,” ante, at 789, and by suggesting that the statute in issue represents an attempt to give an unfair advantage to those who hold views in opposition to positions which would otherwise be financed by corporations. Ante, at 785-786. It fails even to allude to the fact, however, that Massachusetts’ most recent experience with unrestrained corporate expenditures in connection *811with ballot questions establishes precisely the contrary. In 1972, a proposed amendment to the Massachusetts Constitution which would have authorized the imposition of a graduated income tax on both individuals and corporations was put to the voters. The Committee for Jobs and Government Economy, an organized political committee, raised and expended approximately $120,000 to oppose the proposed amendment, the bulk of it raised through large corporate contributions. Three of the present appellant corporations each contributed $3,000 to this committee. In contrast, the Coalition for Tax Reform, Inc., the only political committee organized to support the 1972 amendment, was able to raise and expend only approximately $7,000. App. to Jurisdictional Statement 41; App. to Record 48-84. Perhaps these figures reflect the Court's view of the appropriate role which corporations should play in the Massachusetts electoral process, but it nowhere explains why it is entitled to substitute its judgment for that of Massachusetts and other States,11 as well as the United States, which have acted to correct or prevent similar domination of the electoral process by corporate wealth.

This Nation has for many years recognized the need for measures designed to prevent corporate domination of the political process. The Corrupt Practices Act, first enacted in 1907, has consistently barred corporate contributions in con*812nection with federal elections. This Court has repeatedly recognized that one of the principal purposes of this prohibition is “to avoid the deleterious influences on federal elections resulting from the use of money by those who exercise control over large aggregations of capital.” United States v. Automobile Workers, 352 U. S. 567, 585 (1957). See Pipefitters v. United States, 407 U. S. 385, 415-416 (1972); United States v. CIO, 335 U. S., at 113. Although this Court has never adjudicated the constitutionality of the Act, there is no' suggestion in its cases construing it, cited supra, that this purpose is in any sense illegitimate or deserving of other than the utmost respect; indeed, the thrust of its opinions, until today, Has been to the contrary. See Automobile Workers, supra, at 585; Pipefitters, supra, at 415-416.

II

There is an additional overriding interest related to the prevention of corporate domination which is substantially advanced by Massachusetts’ restrictions upon corporate contributions: assuring that shareholders are not compelled to support and financially further beliefs with which they disagree where, as is the case here, the issue involved does not materially affect the business, property, or other affairs of the corporation.12 The State has not interfered with the prerogatives of corporate management to communicate about matters that have material impact on the business affairs entrusted to them, however much individual stockholders may disagree on economic or ideological grounds. Nor has the State forbidden management from formulating and circulating its views at its own expense or at the expense of others, even where the subject at issue is irrelevant to corporate business affairs. But Massachusetts *813has chosen to forbid corporate management from spending corporate funds in referenda elections absent some demonstrable effect of the issue on the economic life of the company. In short, corporate management may not use corporate monies to promote what does not further corporate affairs but what in the last analysis are the purely personal views of the management, individually or as a group.

This is not only a policy which a State may adopt consistent with the First Amendment but one which protects the very freedoms that this Court has held to be guaranteed by the First Amendment. In Board of Education v. Barnette, 319 U. S. 624 (1943), the Court struck down a West Virginia statute which compelled children enrolled in public school to salute the flag and pledge allegiance to it on the ground that the First Amendment prohibits public authorities from requiring an individual to express support for or agreement with a cause with which he disagrees or concerning, which he prefers to remain silent. Subsequent cases have applied this principle to prohibit organizations to which individuals are compelled to belong as a condition of employment from using compulsory dues to support candidates, political parties, or other forms of political expression which which members disagree or do not wish to support. In Machinists v. Street, 367 U. S. 740 (1961), the Court was presented with allegations that a union shop authorized by the Railway Labor Act, 45 U. S. C. § 152 Eleventh, had used the union treasury to which all employees were compelled to contribute “to finance the campaigns of candidates for federal and state offices whom [the petitioners] opposed, and to promote the propagation of political and economic doctrines, concepts and ideologies with which [they] disagreed.” 367 U. S., at 744. The Court recognized that compelling contributions for such purposes presented constitutional “questions of the utmost gravity” and consequently construed the Act to prohibit the use of compulsory union dues for political purposes. Id., at 749-750. Last Term, *814in Abood v. Detroit Board of Education, 431 U. S. 209 (1977), we confronted these constitutional questions and held that a State may not, even indirectly, require an individual to contribute to the support of an ideological cause he may oppose as a condition of employment. At issue were political expenditures made by a public employees’ union. Michigan law provided that unions and local government employers might agree to an agency-shop arrangement pursuant to which every employee — even those not union members — must pay to the union, as a condition of employment, union dues or a service fee equivalent in amount to union dues. The legislation itself was not coercive; it did not command that local governments employ only those workers who were willing to pay union dues, but left it to a bargaining representative democratically elected by a majority of the employees to enter or not enter into such a contractual arrangement through collective bargaining. In addition, of course, no one was compelled to work at a job covered by an agency-shop arrangement. Nevertheless, the Court ruled that under such circumstances the use of funds contributed by dissenting employees for political purposes impermissibly infringed their First Amendment right to adhere to their own beliefs and to refuse to' defer to or support the beliefs of others.

Presumably, unlike the situations presented by Street and Abood, the use of funds invested by shareholders with opposing views by Massachusetts corporations in connection with referenda or elections would not constitute state action and, consequently, would not violate the First Amendment. Until now, however, the States have always been free to adopt measures designed to further rights protected by the Constitution even when not compelled to do so. It could hardly be plausibly contended that just because Massachusetts’ regulation of corporations is less extensive than Michigan’s regulation of labor-management relations, Massachusetts may not constitutionally prohibit the very evil which Michigan may not consti*815tutionally permit. Yet this is precisely what the Court today holds. Although the Court places great stress upon the alleged infringement of the right to receive information produced by Massachusetts’ ban on corporate expenditures which, for the reasons stated supra, I believe to be misconceived, it fails to explain why such an interest was not sufficient to compel a different weighing of First Amendment interests and, consequently, a different result in Abood. After all, even contributions for political causes coerced by labor unions would, under the Court’s analysis, increase unions’ ability to disseminate their views and, consequently, increase the amount of information available to the general public.

The Court assumes that the interest in preventing the use of corporate resources in furtherance of views which are irrelevant to the corporate business and with which some shareholders may disagree is a compelling one, but concludes that the Massachusetts statute is nevertheless/ invalid because the State has failed to adopt the means best suited, in its opinion, for achieving this end. Ante, at 792-795. It proposes that the aggrieved shareholder assert his interest in preventing the expenditure of funds for nonbusiness causes he finds unconscionable through the channels provided by “corporate democracy” and purports to be mystified as to “why the dissenting shareholder’s wishes are entitled to such greater solicitude in this context than in many others where equally important and controversial corporate decisions are made by management or by a predetermined percentage of the shareholders.” Ante, at 794, and n. 34. It should be obvious that the alternative means upon the adequacy of which the majority is willing to predicate a constitutional adjudication is no more able to satisfy the State’s interest than a ruling in Street and Abood leaving aggrieved employees to the remedies provided by union democracy would have satisfied the demands of the First Amendment. The interest which the State wishes to protect here is identical to that which the Court has previously held to be protected by *816the First Amendment: the right to adhere to one’s own beliefs and to refuse to support the dissemination of the personal and political views of others, regardless of how large a majority they may compose. In most contexts, of course, the views of the dissenting shareholder have little, if any, First Amendment significance. By purchasing interests in corporations shareholders accept the fact that corporations are going to make decisions concerning matters such as advertising integrally related to their business operations according to the procedures set forth in their charters and bylaws. Otherwise, corporations could not function. First Amendment concerns of stockholders are directly implicated, however, when a corporation chooses to use its privileged status to finance ideological crusades which are unconnected with the corporate business or property and which some shareholders might not wish to support. Once again, we are provided no explanation whatsoever by the Court as to why the State’s interest is of less constitutional weight than that of corporations to participate financially in the electoral process and as to why the balance between two First Amendment interests should be struck by this Court. Moreover, the Court offers no reason whatsoever for constitutionally imposing its choice of means to achieve a legitimate goal and invalidating those chosen by the State.13

*817Abood cannot be distinguished, as the present Court attempts to do, ante, at 794-795, n. 34, on the ground that the Court there did not constitutionally prohibit expenditures by unions for the election of political candidates or for ideological causes so long as they are financed from assessments paid by employees who are not coerced into doing so against their will. In the first place, the Court did not purport to hold that all political or ideological expenditures not constitutionally prohibited were constitutionally protected. A State might well conclude that the most and perhaps, in its view, the only effective way of preventing unions or corporations from using funds contributed by differing members or shareholders to support political causes having no connection with the business of the organization is to absolutely ban such expenditures. *818Secondly, unlike the remedies available to the Court in Street and Abood which required unions to refund the exacted funds in the proportion that union political expenditures with which a member disagreed bore to total union expenditures, no such alternative is readily available which would enable a corporate shareholder to maintain his investment in a corporation without supporting its electoral or political ventures other than prohibiting corporations from participating in such activities. There is no apparent way of segregating one shareholder’s ownership interest in a corporation from another’s. It is no answer to respond, as the Court does, that the dissenting “shareholder is free to withdraw his investment at any time and for any reason.” Ante, at 794 n. 34. The employees in Street and Abood were also free to seek other jobs where they would not be compelled to finance causes with which they disagreed, but we held in Abood that First Amendment rights could not be so burdened. Clearly the State has a strong interest in assuring that its citizens are not forced to choose between supporting the propagation of views with which they disagree and passing up investment opportunities.

Finally, even if corporations developed an effective mechanism for rebating to shareholders that portion of their investment used to finance political activities with which they disagreed, a State may still choose to restrict corporate political activity irrelevant to business functions on the grounds that many investors would be deterred from investing in corporations because of a wish not to associate with corporations propagating certain views. The State has an interest not only in enabling individuals to exercise freedom of conscience without penalty but also in eliminating the danger that investment decisions will be significantly influenced by the ideological views of corporations. While the latter concern may not be of the same constitutional magnitude as the former, it is far from trivial. Corporations, as previously noted, are created by the State as a means of furthering the public welfare. One of *819their functions is to determine, by their success in obtaining funds, the uses to which society’s resources are to be put. A State may legitimately conclude that corporations would not serve as economically efficient vehicles for such decisions if the investment preferences of the public were significantly affected by their ideological or political activities. It has long been recognized that such pursuits are not the proper business of corporations. The common law was generally interpreted as prohibiting corporate political participation.14 Indeed, the Securities and Exchange Commission’s rules permit corporations to refuse to submit for shareholder vote any proposal which concerns a general economic, political, racial, religious, or social cause that is not significantly related to the business of the corporation or is not within its control.15

The necessity of prohibiting corporate political expenditures in order to prevent the use of corporate funds for purposes with which shareholders may disagree is not a unique perception of Massachusetts. This Court has repeatedly recognized that one of the purposes of the Corrupt Practices Act was to prevent the use of corporate or union funds for political purposes without the consent of the shareholders or union members and to protect minority interests from domination by corporate or union leadership.16 Although the Court has never, as noted supra, adjudicated the constitutionality of the Act, it has consistently treated this objective with deference. Indeed, in United States v. CIO, 335 U. S. 106 (1948), the Court construed a previous version of the Corrupt Practices Act so as to *820conform its prohibitions to those activities to which the Court believed union members or shareholders might object. After noting that if the statute “were construed to prohibit the publication, by corporations and unions in the regular course of conducting their affairs, of periodicals advising their members, stockholders or customers of danger or advantage to' their interests from the adoption of measures, or the election to office of men espousing such measures, the gravest doubt would arise in our minds as to its constitutionality,” id., at 121, the Court held that the statute did not prohibit such in-house publications. It was persuaded that the purposes of the Act would not be impeded by such an interpretation, because it “is unduly stretching language to say that the members or stockholders are unwilling participants in such normal organizational activities, including the advocacy thereby of governmental policies affecting their interests, and the support thereby of candidates thought to' be favorable to' their interests.” Id., at 123.

The Court today purports not to foreclose the possibility that the Corrupt Practices Act and state statutes which prohibit corporate expenditures only in the context of elections to public office may survive constitutional scrutiny because of the interest in preventing the corruption of elected representatives through the creation of political debts. Ante, at 788 n. 26. It does not choose to explain or even suggest, however, why the state interests which it so cursorily dismisses are less worthy than the interest in preventing corruption or the appearance of it. More importantly, the analytical framework employed by the Court clearly raises great doubt about the Corrupt Practices Act. The question in the present case, as viewed by the Court, “is whether the corporate identity of the speaker deprives this proposed speech of what otherwise would be its clear entitlement to protection,” ante, at 778, which it answers in the negative. But the Court has previously held in Buckley v. Valeo that the interest in preventing corruption is insufficient to justify restrictions upon individual expend*821itures relative to candidates for political office. If the corporate identity of the speaker makes no difference, all the Court has done is to reserve the formal interment of the Corrupt Practices Act and similar state statutes for another day. As I understand the view that has now become part of First Amendment jurisprudence, the use of corporate funds, even for causes irrelevant to the corporation’s business, may be no more limited than that of individual funds. Hence, corporate contributions to and expenditures on behalf of political candidates may be no more limited than those of individuals. Individual contributions under federal law are limited but not entirely forbidden, and under Buckley v. Valeo expenditures may not constitutionally be limited at all. Most state corrupt practices Acts, like the federal Act, forbid any contributions or expenditures by corporations to or for a political candidate.

In my view, the interests in protecting a system of freedom of expression, set forth supra, are sufficient to justify any incremental curtailment in the volume of expression which the Massachusetts statute might produce. I would hold that apart from corporate activities, such as those discussed in Part I, supra, and exempted from regulation in CIO, which are integrally related to corporate business operations, a State may prohibit corporate expenditures for political or ideological purposes. There can be no doubt that corporate expenditures in connection with referenda immaterial to corporate business affairs fall clearly into the category of corporate activities which may be barred. The electoral process, of course, is the essence of our democracy. It is an arena in which the public interest in preventing corporate domination and the coerced support by shareholders of causes with which they disagree is at its strongest and any claim that corporate expenditures are integral to the economic functioning of the corporation is at its weakest.17

*822I would affirm the judgment of the Supreme Judicial Court for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

dissenting.

This Court decided at an early date, with neither argument nor discussion, that a business corporation is a “person” entitled to the protection of the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. Santa Clara County v. Southern Pacific R. Co., 118 U. S. 394, 396 (1886). Likewise, it soon became accepted that the property of a corporation was protected under the Due Process Clause of that same Amendment. See, e. g., Smyth v. Ames, 169 U. S. 466, 522 (1898). Nevertheless, we concluded soon thereafter that the liberty protected by that Amendment “is the liberty of natural, not artificial persons.” Northwestern Nat. Life Ins. Co. v. Riggs, 203 U. S. 243, 255 (1906). Before today, our only considered and explicit departures from that holding have been that a corporation engaged in the business of publishing or broadcasting enjoys the same liberty of the press as is enjoyed by natural persons, Gosjean v. American Press Co., 297 U. S. 233, 244 (1936), and that a nonprofit membership corporation organized for the purpose of “achieving . . . equality of treatment by all government, federal, state and local, for the members of the Negro community” enjoys certain liberties of political expression. NAACP v. Button, 371 U. S. 415, 429 (1963).

The question presented today, whether business corporations have a constitutionally protected liberty to engage in political activities, has never been squarely addressed by any previous decision of this Court.1 However, the General Court *823of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, the Congress of the United States, and the legislatures of 30 other States of this Republic have considered the matter, and have concluded that restrictions upon the political activity of business corporations are both politically desirable and constitutionally permissible. The judgment of such a broad consensus of governmental bodies expressed over a period of many decades is entitled to considerable deference from this Court. I think it quite probable that their judgment may properly be reconciled with our controlling precedents, but I am certain that under my views of the limited application of the First Amendment to the States, which I share with the two immediately preceding occupants of my seat on the Court, but not with my present colleagues, the judgment of the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts should be affirmed.

Early in our history, Mr. Chief Justice Marshall described the status of a corporation in the eyes of federal law:

“A corporation is an artificial being, invisible, intangible, and existing only in contemplation of law. Being the mere creature of law, it possesses only those properties which the charter of creation confers upon it, either expressly, or as incidental to its very existence. These are such as are supposed best calculated to effect the object for which it was created.” Dartmouth College v. Woodward, 4 Wheat. 518, 636 (1819).

The appellants herein either were created by the Commonwealth or were admitted into the Commonwealth only for the limited purposes described in their charters and regulated by *824state law.2 Since it cannot be disputed that the mere creation of a corporation does not invest it with all the liberties enjoyed by natural persons, United States v. White, 322 U. S. 694, 698-701 (1944) (corporations do not enjoy the privilege against self-incrimination), our inquiry must seek to determine which constitutional protections are “incidental to its verexistence.” Dartmouth College, supra, at 636.

There can be little doubt that when a State creates a corporation with the power to acquire and utilize property, it necessarily and implicitly guarantees that the corporation will not be deprived of that property absent due process of law. Likewise, when a State charters a corporation for the purpose of publishing a newspaper, it necessarily assumes that the corporation is entitled to the liberty of the press essential to the conduct of its business.3 Crosjean so held, and our subsequent cases have so assumed. E. g., Time, Inc. v. Firestone, 424 U. S. 448 (1976); New York Times Co. v. Sullivan, 376 *825U. S. 254 (1964) ,4 Until recently, it was not thought that any persons, natural or artificial, had any protected right to engage in commercial speech. See Virginia State Board of Pharmacy v. Virginia Citizens Consumer Council, 425 U. S. 748, 761-770 (1976). Although the Court has never explicitly recognized a corporation’s right of commercial speech, such a right might be considered necessarily incidental to the business of a commercial corporation.

It cannot be so readily concluded that the right of political expression is equally necessary to carry out the functions of a corporation organized for commercial purposes.5 A State grants to a business corporation the blessings of potentially perpetual life and limited liability to enhance its efficiency as *826an economic entity. It might reasonably be concluded that those properties, so beneficial in the economic sphere, pose special dangers in the political sphere. Furthermore, it might be argued that liberties of political expression are not at all necessary to effectuate the purposes for which States permit commercial corporations to exist. So long as the Judicial Branches of the State and Federal Governments remain open to protect the corporation’s interest in its property, it has no need, though it may have the desire, to petition the political branches for similar protection. Indeed, the States might reasonably fear that the corporation would use its economic power to obtain further benefits beyond those already bestowed.6 I would think that any particular form of organi*827zation upon which the State confers special privileges or immunities different from those of natural persons would be subject to like regulation, whether the organization is a labor union, a partnership, a trade association, or a corporation.

One need not adopt such a restrictive view of the political liberties of ‘busiñ'ékk'corporations to affirm the..judgment of the Supreme Judicial Court in this case. That court reasoned that this Court’s decisions entitling the property óf a corporation to constitutional protection should be construed as recognizing the liberty of a corporation to express itself on political matters concerning that property. Thus, the Court construed the statute in question not to forbid political expres*828sion by a corporation “when a general political issue materially affects a corporation’s business, property or assets.” 371 Mass. 773, 785, 359 N. E. 2d 1262, 1270 (1977).

I can see no basis for concluding that the liberty of a corporation to engage in political activity with regard to matters having no material effect on its business is necessarily incidental to the purposes for which the Commonwealth permitted these corporations to be organized or admitted within its boundaries. Nor can I disagree with the Supreme Judicial Court’s factual finding that no such effect has been shown by these appellants. Because the statute as construed provides at least as much protection as the Fourteenth Amendment requires, I believe it is constitutionally valid.

It is true, as the Court points out, ante, at 781-783, that recent decisions of this Court have emphasized the interest of the public in receiving the information offered by the speaker seeking protection. The free flow of information is in no way diminished by the Commonwealth’s decision to permit the operation of business corporations with limited rights of political expression. All natural persons, who owe their existence to a higher sovereign than the Commonwealth, remain as free as before to engage in political activity. Cf. Maher v. Roe, 432 U. S. 464,474 (1977).

I would affirm the judgment of the Supreme Judicial Court.

concurring.

I join the opinion and judgment of the Court but write separately to raise some questions likely to arise in this area in the future.

*796A disquieting aspect of Massachusetts’ position is that it may carry the risk of impinging on the First Amendment rights of those who employ the corporate form — as most do— to carry on the business of mass communications, particularly the large media conglomerates. This is so because of the difficulty, and perhaps impossibility, of distinguishing, either as a matter of fact or constitutional law, media corporations from corporations such as the appellants in this case.

Making traditional use of the corporate form, some media enterprises have amassed vast wealth and power and conduct many activities, some directly related — and some not — to their publishing and broadcasting activities. See Miami Herald Publishing Co. v. Tornillo, 418 U. S. 241, 248-254 (1974). Today, a corporation might own the dominant newspaper in one or more large metropolitan centers, television and radio stations in those same centers and others, a newspaper chain, news magazines with nationwide circulation, national or worldwide wire news services, and substantial interests in book publishing and distribution enterprises. Corporate ownership may extend, vertically, to pulp mills and pulp timberlands to insure an adequate, continuing supply of newsprint and to trucking and steamship lines for the purpose of transporting the newsprint to the presses. Such activities would be logical economic auxiliaries tó a publishing conglomerate. Ownership also may extend beyond to business activities unrelated to the task of publishing newspapers and magazines or broadcasting radio and television programs. Obviously, such far-reaching ownership would not be possible without the state-provided corporate form and its “special rules relating to such matters as limited liability, perpetual life, and the accumulation, distribution, and taxation of assets . . . .” Post, at 809 (White, J., dissenting).

In terms of “unfair advantage in the political process” and “corporate domination of the electoral process,” post, at 809-810, it could be argued that such media conglomerates as I de*797scribe pose a much more realistic threat to valid interests than do appellants and similar entities not regularly concerned with shaping popular opinion on public issues. See Miami Herald Publishing Co. v. Tornillo, supra; ante, at 791 n. 30. In Tornillo, for example, we noted the serious contentions advanced that a result of the growth of modern media empires “has been to place in a few hands the power to inform the American people and shape public opinion.” 418 U. S., at 250.

In terms of Massachusetts’ other concern, the interests of minority shareholders, I perceive no basis for saying that the managers and directors of the media conglomerates are more or less sensitive to the views and desires of minority shareholders than are corporate officers generally.1 Nor can it be said, even if relevant to First Amendment analysis — which it is not — that the former are more virtuous, wise, or restrained in the exercise of corporate power than are the latter. Cf. Columbia Broadcasting System v. Democratic National Comm., 412 U. S. 94, 124-125 (1973); 14 The Writings of Thomas Jefferson 46 (A. Libscomb ed. 1904) (letter to Dr. Walter Jones, Jan. 2, 1814). Thus, no factual distinction has been identified as yet that would justify government restraints on the right of appellants to express their views without, at the same time, opening the door to similar restraints on media conglomerates with their vastly greater influence.

Despite these factual similarities between media and non-media corporations, those who view the Press Clause as somehow conferring special and extraordinary privileges or status on the “institutional press” — which are not extended to those *798who wish to express ideas other than by publishing a newspaper — might perceive no danger to institutional media corporations flowing from the position asserted by Massachusetts. Under this narrow reading of the Press Clause, government could perhaps impose on nonmedia corporations restrictions not permissible with respect to “media” enterprises. Cf. Bezanson, The New Free Press Guarantee, 63 Va. L. Rev. 731, 767-770 (1977).2 The Court has not yet squarely resolved whether the Press Clause confers upon the “institutional press” any freedom from government restraint not enjoyed by all others.3

I perceive two fundamental difficulties with a narrow reading of the Press Clause. First, although certainty on this point is not possible, the history of the Clause does not suggest that the authors contemplated a “special” or “institutional” privilege. See Lange, The Speech and Press Clauses, 23 UCLA L. Rev. 77, 88-99 (1975). The common 18th century understanding of freedom of the press is suggested by Andrew Bradford, a colonial American newspaperman. In defining the nature of the liberty, he did not limit it to a particular group:

“But, by the Freedom of the Press, I mean a Liberty, within the Bounds of Law, for any Man to communicate to the Public, his Sentiments on the Important Points of *799Religion and Government; of proposing any Laws, which he apprehends may be for the Good of his Countrey, and of applying for the Repeal of such, as he Judges pernicious. . . .

“This is the Liberty of the Press, the great Palladium of all our other Liberties, which I hope the good People of this Province, will forever enjoy . . . .” A. Bradford, Sentiments on the Liberty of the Press, in L. Levy, Freedom of the Press from Zenger to Jefferson 41-42 (1966) (emphasis deleted) (first published in Bradford’s The American Weekly Mercury, a Philadelphia newspaper, Apr. 25, 1734).

Indeed most pre-First Amendment commentators “who employed the term 'freedom of speech’ with great frequency, used it synonomously with freedom of the press.” L. Levy, Legacy of Suppression: Freedom of Speech and Press in Early American History 174 (1960).

Those interpreting the Press Clause as extending protection only to, or creating a special role for, the “institutional press” must either (a) assert such an intention on the part of the Framers for which no supporting evidence is available, cf. Lange, supra, at 89-91; (b) argue that events after 1791 somehow operated to “constitutionalize” this interpretation, see Bezanson, supra n. 3, at 788; or (c) candidly acknowledging the absence of historical support, suggest that the intent of the Framers is not important today. See Nimmer, supra n. 3, at 640-641.

To conclude that the Framers did not intend to limit the freedom of the press to one select group is not necessarily to suggest that the Press Clause is redundant. The Speech Clause standing alone may be viewed as a protection of the liberty to express ideas and beliefs,4 while the Press Clause *800focuses specifically on the liberty to disseminate expression broadly and "comprehends every sort of publication which affords a vehicle of information and opinion.” Lovell v. Griffin, 303 U. S. 444, 452 (1938).5 Yet there is no fundamental distinction between expression and dissemination. The liberty encompassed by the Press Clause, although complementary to and a natural extension of Speech Clause liberty, merited special mention simply because it had been more often the object of official restraints. Soon after the invention of the printing press, English and continental monarchs, fearful of the power implicit in its use and the threat to Establishment thought and order — political and religious— devised restraints, such as licensing, censors, indices of prohibited books, and prosecutions for seditious libel, which gen*801erally were unknown in the pre-printing press era. Official restrictions were the official response to the new, disquieting idea that this invention would provide a means for mass communication.

The second fundamental difficulty with interpreting the Press Clause as conferring special status on a limited group is one of definition. See Lange, supra, at 100-107. The very task of including some entities within the “institutional press” while excluding others, whether undertaken by legislature, court, or administrative agency, is reminiscent of the abhorred licensing system of Tudor and Stuart England — a system the First Amendment was intended to ban from this country. Lovell v. Griffin, supra, at 451-452. Further, the officials undertaking that task would be required to distinguish the protected from the unprotected on the basis of such variables as ¡content of expression, frequency or fervor of expression, or ownership of the technological means of dissemination. Yet nothing in this Court’s opinions supports such a confining approach to the scope of Press Clause protection.6 Indeed, the Court has plainly intimated the contrary view:

“Freedom of the press is a 'fundamental personal right’ which 'is not confined to newspapers and periodicals. It necessarily embraces pamphlets and leaflets. . . . The press in its historic connotation comprehends every sort of publication which affords a vehicle of information and opinion.’ . . . The informative function asserted by representatives of the organized press ... is also performed by lecturers, political pollsters, novelists, academic researchers, and dramatists. Almost any author may quite accurately assert that he is contributing to the flow *802of information to the public . . . .” Branzburg v. Hayes, 408 U. S. 665, 704-705 (1972), quoting Lovell v. Griffin, supra, at 450, 452.

The meaning of the Press Clause, as a provision separate and apart from the Speech Clause, is implicated only indirectly by this case. Yet Massachusetts’ position poses serious questions. The evolution of traditional newspapers into modem corporate conglomerates in which the daily dissemination of news by print is no longer the major part of the whole enterprise suggests the need for caution in limiting the First Amendment rights of corporations as such. Thus, the tentative probings of this brief inquiry are wholly consistent, I think, with the Court’s refusal to sustain § 8’s serious and potentially dangerous restriction on the freedom of political speech.

Because the First Amendment was meant to guarantee freedom to express and communicate ideas, I can see no difference between the right of those who seek to disseminate ideas by way of a newspaper and those who give lectures or speeches and seek to enlarge the audience by publication and wide dissemination. “[T]he purpose of the Constitution was not to erect the press into a privileged institution but to protect all persons in their right to print what they will as well as to utter it. ‘. . . the liberty of the press is no greater and no less . . .’ than the liberty of every citizen of the Republic.” Pennekamp v. Florida, 328 U. S. 331, 364 (1946) (Frankfurter, J., concurring).

In short, the First Amendment does not “belong” to any definable category of persons or entities: It belongs to all who exercise its freedoms.