There is no better example of the overreach of government than in

Chris Stewart once declared with sharp conviction: “There is no better example of the overreach of government than in environmental law.” Though rooted in the struggles of modern governance, his words echo an ancient warning: that power, though often sought in the name of good, can become a burden when it grows too vast, too controlling, too distant from the people it claims to serve. His cry is not against the earth itself, nor against the duty to protect it, but against the danger that noble intentions may become chains that stifle liberty and prosperity.

When Stewart speaks of overreach, he draws upon a theme as old as civilization. The rulers of ages past often began their reigns with promises of justice and safety, yet in their zeal, they reached beyond measure, burdening the people with decrees, taxes, and commands that crushed the very lives they sought to improve. So too, he argues, in environmental law: rules born of concern for the air and water sometimes grow into vast systems of restriction, where the farmer, the builder, or the craftsman finds themselves trapped in endless regulation, unable to act freely.

This tension between freedom and regulation has long been seen in history. Consider the Roman Empire. In its early days, laws were simple and few, meant to preserve order while granting citizens space to thrive. Yet as centuries passed, decrees multiplied, bureaucrats swelled, and Rome suffocated beneath its own weight. The same empire that had conquered the world fell, in part, because its government forgot restraint. Stewart’s words echo this ancient lesson: that when power grows unchecked, even in the name of virtue, decline soon follows.

Yet his warning is not a call to abandon stewardship of the earth. The ancients, too, honored balance. The Greeks spoke of sophrosyne, moderation in all things. The Hebrews were commanded to let their land rest every seventh year, that it might remain fruitful. The wisdom of these traditions is that care for nature must walk hand in hand with care for freedom. Too little protection, and the earth is destroyed; too much regulation, and human endeavor is strangled. Stewart’s words cry out for this balance: to protect without enslaving, to guard without smothering.

Consider also the story of the American frontier. The pioneers who crossed mountains and rivers carried with them not only courage but also responsibility. They sought freedom to build, to plant, to live, yet they also learned—sometimes too late—that misuse of the land brought dust, famine, and hardship. Laws were needed, yes, but the question was always the same: how many, and how far should they go? Stewart’s lament is that in our age, the balance has tipped too far, that environmental law—once meant to safeguard—has in many cases become an instrument of restriction, more prison than protection.

The lesson for us is plain. We must honor the earth, for without it there is no life. But we must also guard against the creeping tide of overreach, remembering that governments, like men, are tempted to grasp too much. The true path lies in wisdom: in crafting laws that protect the common good while preserving the freedom of individuals to labor, to innovate, and to thrive.

So let these words be a guide: beware of excess in all things. Support protection of the earth, but demand that such protection be clear, just, and limited, serving both the land and the people. Speak when laws cross the line into domination, and act with responsibility so that fewer laws are needed. For as Stewart reminds us, the struggle between liberty and control is eternal, and only through vigilance, balance, and courage can we ensure that both humanity and nature endure together in harmony.