MarijuanaHst CHASTEEN
MarijuanaHst CHASTEEN
MarijuanaHst CHASTEEN
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Kingdom
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1 Getting High 1
Trouble with the Police 5
Meet the Cannabis Plant 12
2 American Century 17
The Early Years 20
The Marihuana Tax Act, 1937 23
Rise and Fall of the Counterculture 28
Drug War, Culture War 37
News Flash 42
3 Atlantic World 45
Hemp and Rum, Strategic Resources 46
Mexico, and a Mystery 50
Colombia and Jamaica 58
Brazil and the African Connection 64
Africa, South of the Congo 70
4 Medieval Hashish 77
Wine versus Hashish 79
Hashish in Muslim Society 82
God’s Unruly Friends 87
The Assassin Legend 94
Not for Everybody 99
5 Asian Origins 103
Historic India 103
vii
Glossary 139
Sources and Asides 141
Index 147
About the Author 157
Getting High
J ust wait until people our age are running things. Then everything
will change. My sixteen-year-old friends and I had no doubts in
the matter, around 1970. We assured each other, when we smoked
marijuana, that a new dawn was inevitable in a world that was
“turning on.” Marijuana, we believed, was a “mind-expanding”
drug, somewhat like LSD, but much milder. The distinction was
blurred, anyway, because we often used them together. We sup-
posed that anyone, particularly anyone young, would change
their attitude, spontaneously abandoning racism or support of the
Vietnam War, for example, under the mind-expanding influence
of the drug. Marijuana would help anyone see through sham and
resist mind control by “The System.” The problem was getting
them off booze, which dulled perceptions, rather than heighten-
ing them.
My sixteen-year-old friends and I viewed getting high and
getting drunk as rough opposites. Marijuana was the drug of
our tribe, the cool, long-haired, rock-music-listening, faded-blue-
jean-wearing tribe. Pot, as we called it most often, made people
peaceful. Alcohol belonged to the other tribe, exemplified by
hard-hat construction workers who drank beer and threatened to
beat up “long-hairs.” Alcohol stood for decadent tradition, and it
made people violent.
We were wrong, of course, about the world, and also about pot’s
irresistible persuasiveness. The world proved harder to remake
than we had ever supposed. And the clarity of the 1970 tribes soon
got muddled. By the 1990s, when I was a college professor sipping
wine at faculty parties, men with long hair seemed more likely
to be construction workers than students. Pot and beer no longer
seemed like opposites, either. Marijuana’s mind-expanding quali-
ties had gotten lost.
Did it ever really possess them?
This book looks at marijuana in the long view of world history.
It asks who used it, how, and why. Unlike most published versions
of the drug’s history, it places marijuana within larger historical
patterns, such as migration, colonialism, and religion. It also keeps
the marijuana/beer comparison in mind throughout. Above all, it
asks whether marijuana really possesses mind-expanding powers.
A simple question, perhaps, but without a simple answer. For
starters, the effects of the drug are variable and subjective. Con-
sider the complexities. The same dose can affect different people
differently, and the same person differently at different moments.
That’s true of alcohol, too, but truer of marijuana. Its effect will
vary according to expectations. To a degree, altered consciousness
is always a blank screen onto which people project their expecta-
tions. Expectations play an enormous role in people’s reaction to
any drug, of course, which is why placebos work. All this plays
havoc with our attempts to characterize marijuana’s mind-altering
qualities in the abstract.
To understand the effects of mind-altering drugs, it’s better to
ask how they are used in everyday life. Like alcohol, marijuana
is often used just for fun. That is because, like alcohol, it is a “eu-
phoriant” that triggers a surge of dopamine in the brains of users.
Many recreational drugs are euphoriants, but their effects vary.
The point of recreational use is simply to enhance the moment by
stepping out of ordinary consciousness. Often, the fact that drugs
somehow alter ordinary consciousness matters more than just how
they alter it. Recreational use is generally social. It facilitates inter-
personal bonding and generally greases the social gears. That is
why, like drinking alcohol, smoking marijuana is very commonly
Why, then, is marijuana illegal? That’s the first question that any
reasonable person is likely to ask at this point, and it deserves a
straight answer. How did this very ancient and widespread crop,
one of humankind’s original domesticated plants, become banned
more or less worldwide? The gist of the answer lies in the next
chapter.
For now, contemplate the dramatic impact of today’s anti-mar-
ijuana laws. The drug’s general illegality is among the first things
anyone learns about it. In my case, as a middle-class American
kid, I learned it from the 1960s televised detective series Dragnet,
and then from the local broadcast news report, which ominously
showed the house of family friends as a crime scene. Marijuana’s
illegality constitutes a major reason why the United States now
keeps more of its population in prison, by far, than other countries.
Roughly half of the drug offenses tabulated annually by the FBI
involve marijuana, and roughly half the inmates in federal peni-
tentiaries are there for selling or, sometimes, for merely possessing
it. The rampant incarceration associated with the “drug war” has
weighed particularly on minority communities in the United States.
Some police departments in the United States have begun routinely
to seize the property of people accused of possessing marijuana,
and they often keep the property without filing formal charges. In
essence, it’s an institutionalized form of bribery and police corrup-
tion: “You had marijuana in your car, so we’ll keep both marijuana
and car, and you’ll say nothing or face drug charges.” The main
evidence of criminal activity landing many young New Yorkers
in jail, when they are profiled and then “stopped and frisked,” is a
small amount of marijuana. The pervasive drug-testing programs
maintained by many businesses effectively target only marijuana,
which is detectable in the blood for a month, whereas the traces of
other drugs disappear after a few days.
Since the 1970s, U.S. federal law has retained marijuana on its list
of most-prohibited “controlled substances,” those that it is a crime
merely to possess and cannot be consumed under any circum-
stances. Despite advances in scientific understanding of the body’s
endocannabinoid system, federal law still specifies that marijuana
has “no currently accepted medical use.” This is the wording of the
Controlled Substances Act, which lists marijuana in its “most dan-
gerous” category, Schedule I, reserved for drugs that also produce
attract insects with nectar or colored flower petals. The female can-
nabis flower is a greenish cluster of slender, feathery, translucent
tendrils, called stigmas, which reach out a few millimeters hoping
that floating pollen will come to rest on them. On and around the
clusters of stigmas the blooming plant exudes a resin rich in can-
nabinoids.
If the flowers are pollinated, they stop blooming, produce no
more resin, and go to seed. To grow a crop of abundantly blooming
female plants, marijuana farmers cull male plants. In the males’ ab-
sence, the never-to-be-pollinated female plants gamely persevere,
producing more and more groping tendrils and more sticky resin,
until finally they give up the ghost, leaving, at the end of each
branch, a dense and withered clump of rust-colored stigmas and
resinous crystals without seeds, a sin semilla bud. The clusters of sin
semilla buds at the top of a single large plant can retail today in the
United States for many thousands of dollars.
Marijuana and hemp are above all crops, products of cultivation.
A cannabis plant only produces sin semilla (and all medical-grade
marijuana is sin semilla) if the males are culled, as we have seen.
Hemp farmers, on the other hand, grow both male and female
plants. They harvest most of the crop before it flowers, because
flowering takes the plant’s energies and degrades the fiber. They
do allow a portion of the crop to flower and make seeds for next
year’s crop. As wind-born hemp pollen blows through the thicket,
the female flowers go to seed and shut down. No groping stigmas,
no swelling buds, no spicy scent of resin, no rich payload of can-
nabinoids. No sin semilla, in other words, nothing remotely like it,
in any phase of hemp cultivation. Cultivation, then, is the defining
difference between marijuana and hemp, but it isn’t the only dif-
ference.
There are also environmental components. It takes plenty of
heat and sunshine, with a particular timing, to produce good
marijuana. Until the invention of grow lights, it was almost im-
possible to grow marijuana in a high-latitude climate like that of
Europe. Hemp, yes, all you want. Marijuana, no. That’s because
the cannabis plant only starts to bloom when the hours of light
and darkness equalize at the autumnal equinox. A cannabis
plant takes five or six weeks to flower fully, and the more hot,
sunny days there are during the plant’s flowering, the denser
and more resinous the buds become and the more cannabinoids
they contain. In fact, the resin may be, among other things, a pro-
tection against dehydration, a sort of sunscreen for the plant’s
delicate reproductive organs. That means that a seed planted in
India, for example, or anywhere in the tropics, has a much better
chance of developing drug potency compared with an identical
seed planted in a cool, high-latitude climate where it will grow
exuberantly on the long summer days but will blossom only
minimally when heat and sun dwindle away quickly after the
equinox. That is why we associate marijuana with hot climates
in the global south, while the world’s chief hemp growing areas,
in contrast, are cooler and more northerly.
Finally, although marijuana and hemp have a common origin,
there is a genetic difference between them. Contrasting cultivation
has created contrasting strains, mutually exclusive populations, as
hemp farmers and marijuana farmers worked in isolation from one
another over thousands of years. Always, the former selected for
tall, strong stems and the latter, for large, resinous buds. The result
was a series of strains with genetic endowments distinct enough
that they have sometimes been considered separate species. Still,
bring them back into geographical proximity with one another,
and they cross-pollinate automatically—so much so that, in geo-
graphical proximity, they ruin each other by cross-pollinating. For
that reason marijuana and hemp do not go together, historically.
Europeans and Chinese have grown hemp for many centuries
without producing any cannabis drugs, without even realizing,
most of the time, that cannabis could be a drug.
We have historical snapshots of very separate strains from
two famous eighteenth-century botanists. Linnaeus himself de-
scribed a northern European domestic hemp strain and called it
Cannabis sativa as part of his new binomial system of scientific
nomenclature in the 1750s. A few decades later, another Euro-
pean naturalist, Lamarck, described an Indian drug-producing
bush with an almost identical leaf, and believing that it was
different enough to constitute a separate species, he named
American Century
17
Limited but clear evidence shows that people in the United States
first began to smoke marijuana cigarettes on the eve of World War
I. These pioneers were laborers recruited in Mexico during the
early 1900s to mine ore, maintain railroad tracks, and harvest crops
in the western United States. Other migrants soon followed on
their own initiative, seeking work. When Mexico’s great revolution
of 1910 began, the northern part of the country was a major battle-
field, dominated by the revolutionary general Pancho Villa. “La
Cucaracha,” the song famously sung by Villa’s followers, refers to
marijuana in its lyrics. Ten years of fighting probably encouraged
use of marijuana in a militarized Mexico, where it was regarded as
a soldier’s vice. Meanwhile, noncombatants fled across the border
to escape the fighting, often staying with relatives in the United
States until it was safe to return home.
The first piece of major historical evidence concerning use of the
new drug on this side of the border is an investigation conducted
for the U.S. Department of Agriculture in 1917. The investigator
reported that marijuana was common in south and west Texas,
whether homegrown, brought from Mexico by several companies,
or purchased in one-ounce packages from pharmacies and grocery
stores, some of which even advertised and sold by mail order. As
migrating workers moved north and west from Texas toward the
cotton fields and citrus groves of California, into the mining camps
of the Rocky Mountain states, and, eventually, into the industrial-
izing cities of the upper Midwest, they took marijuana with them.
It is hard to know what marijuana signified in their lives. Un-
questionably, though, its low cost constituted a powerful attrac-
seen. When the derivatives of opium poppies and coca leaves be-
came controlled substances in 1915, however, marijuana did not.
Unlike cocaine and, especially opiates, the presence of this new
poison was incipient, limited, and localized—not yet a national
concern. The most abused substance of the early-twentieth-century
United States, meanwhile, was unquestionably booze.
Whiskey and hard cider had been omnipresent on the nine-
teenth-century frontier. Opposition to alcohol use had ebbed and
flowed during that century, and many states had banned the sale
of the drug well before national Prohibition. Historians agree that,
in addition to concerns about the dangers of alcoholism, fears of
immigrant drinking figured importantly in the national mood.
These were the same years, after all, in which immigration was first
restricted by congressional action.
Before national prohibition, a lot of drinking happened in the sort
of uproarious saloon familiar to modern viewers from cinematic
Westerns. In the industrial north of the United States and in the
Midwest, hard-drinking European immigrants frequented saloons,
which were also centers for political indoctrination and organizing.
This was a period in which European immigrants were suspected of
radical doctrines, such as Socialism and Anarchism. More often, the
political life of saloons turned on the exchange of votes for benefits,
namely, patronage, what these days we call “pork-barrel politics.”
Saloons seemed a big problem to progressive reformers of the early
1900s. Moreover, whether in Dodge City, Chicago, or Brooklyn, sa-
loons were a man’s world, venues in which the only women were
prostitutes. The famous activist Carrie Nation believed that she
obeyed a higher moral order when she smashed up saloons with an
ax. The Women’s Christian Temperance Union was an organization
of primary importance in building a national consensus for the pro-
hibition of alcohol. In general, the institution of Prohibition in 1919
coincided with, and partly resulted from, a rise in women’s political
engagement, including a woman’s right to vote, and protection of
children ranked high among women’s goals.
However, the Eighteenth Amendment, outlawing the manufac-
ture, transport, and sale of alcoholic beverages, is the only consti-
tutional amendment ever to be repealed. National prohibition of
you saw them. Long hair made boys into hippies, as did faded blue
jeans, and the general look of a homeless waif. And sometimes no
underwear. “Hippie chicks” wore long “granny” dresses from the
used clothing store, without makeup or bras or, possibly, shoes.
Both sexes wore Native American beadwork, South American
fabrics, and African motifs. Most controversially, some hippies
wore clothing made out of the national flag or fabric resembling it.
That produced an angry reaction, as did a number of other hippie
traits. Hippies advocated “Peace and Love,” and pacifism seemed
unpatriotic and effeminate to many Americans during the Vietnam
War. Hippie love was brotherly love, of course, directed to those
on whom one refused to make war, but it was also free love. Make
love, not war! Middle America, as it was then called, looked on hip-
pie promiscuity with horror. Hippies seldom bathed, commented
“straight” America. And they wanted to live like “bums,” without
working! Many other hippie traits were controversial, too. Hip-
pies scorned material things—theoretically, at any rate—and they
might live without furniture, sleeping on mattresses on the floor.
They prized living spontaneously, making do creatively without a
silly full-time job, drifting here and there, hitchhiking or traveling
in an old Volkswagen bus, a life “on the road.” This fantasy of care-
free poverty was contradicted, of course, and also facilitated, by the
social origins of these young people. Hippies were only poor, for
the most part, when in conflict with their suburban parents.
Finally, there were drugs, of course. Hippies frowned on alcohol,
which they associated with loutish violence and lack of imagina-
tion, but they were open to anything else. Marijuana was by far the
most popular choice, but there were also pharmaceutical “uppers”
and “downers” that had been widely consumed for years, and
several sorts of hallucinogenic drugs: psilocybin (from “magic”
mushrooms), mescaline (from peyote cactus), and laboratory-
synthesized LSD, lysergic acid diethylamide, “acid” for short. The
point was to try them and see what one preferred. But the hallu-
cinogens—of which marijuana was the mildest and LSD the most
powerful—held a special countercultural significance because of
their reputed mind-expanding qualities. They were believed to
“deprogram” people made “robotic” by pervasive mass media of
For good or ill, the Age of Aquarius did not much outlast the 1960s.
The United States gradually withdrew its soldiers from Vietnam,
NEWS FLASH
Marijuana never was a devil weed that drove people violently in-
sane after three puffs. The 1936 Reefer Madness image of the drug
seemed hysterically wrong by century’s end. But the idea that pot
was an inherently mind-expanding drug had also more or less van-
ished, lingering only as quaint hippie lore. Evidently, it had been
the critique of racism, religion, sexuality and gender, consumer
capitalism, and patriotic warfare that expanded the minds of 1960s
pot smokers and led them to question The Status Quo. Without
such tea-pad philosophizing, marijuana had come to seem just an-
other feel-good recreational drug.
Meanwhile, by 2000 the U.S. counterculture and its aftermath
had totally altered marijuana’s global status. Young American
dissidents had introduced the drug to their British counterparts
almost from the start, as symbolized by Dylan’s “turning on” the
Beatles at New York’s Delmonico Hotel in 1964. Media coverage
of the counterculture, and especially its music, gave marijuana a
globally projected glamour that stimulated its use among Euro-
pean, Asian, and Latin American young people affluent enough
to emulate U.S. lifestyles. During the 1970s, once U.S. soldiers had
enthusiastically embraced the drug in Vietnam, their Cold War de-
ployment around the world played a part, too, in the transnational
dissemination of marijuana. In sum, the counterculture had made
marijuana “the world’s most used illegal drug,” something it was
far from being in 1900.
As coming chapters move outward from the United States and
backward in time, we will discover a very different and little-
known global history of marijuana, a history defined, most often,
by the social identity of the users. The poor, migrating marijuana
users of the early-twentieth-century United States will turn out
to be typical of the last few centuries. However, the idea shared
by 1920s jazz vipers, 1950s beatniks, and 1960s hippies, who as-
Atlantic World
45
derive from the Mexican tendency to use the name María as a ver-
bal disguise for hallucinogenic substances that were condemned
by the Catholic Church. Hallucinogenic peyote, for example,
was called Santa Rosa María; another mild hallucinogen, María
Santísima. Marijuana wasn’t named for a soldier’s sweetheart,
María Juana, as the story goes. Such overtly specific origin stories
are almost never true. But María Juana certainly was another verbal
disguise for the drug. Moreover, soldiers’ sweethearts do figure
prominently in the story of marijuana, and so does the disap-
proval of the Catholic Church. Much remains unknown, however.
A dearth of information is, alas, a constant in the global history of
cannabis before 1900.
The historical contrast with evidence on alcohol (and tobacco)
is quite astounding. Spanish archives groan under the weight of
records relating to alcohol and tobacco in the New World. Unlike
the Indians of what is now the United States and Canada, the Az-
tecs (and their related subject peoples) made and drank ethanol.
By Aztec law, the common people drank only (and then, heavily)
on ritual occasions. Pulque, fermented from the juice of the ma-
guey cactus, was their wine, and the common people of Mexico
continued to drink pulque for centuries. The Spanish rulers of
colonial Mexico lamented the large consumption of pulque and
taxed every ounce of it, very lucratively indeed—the reason for
all those archived official records. Something similar could be said
about tobacco, its pre-Columbian origins, its ritual significance, its
many users in the colonial period, its lucrative tax revenues. Ciga-
rettes (wrapped in paper, as opposed to cigars, wrapped in tobacco
leaves) were seemingly invented in Mexico and mass-produced
there, for the first time anywhere, in the 1700s.
In comparison, the total of what is known about the history of
marijuana in Mexico before 1850 would probably fit (as raw data)
on a single sheet of paper, but it will take a few pages more to
explain what it means. First, in the 1530s, one of the Spaniards led
by Cortés, upon being rewarded for his efforts with a gift of forced
indigenous labor, set his forced laborers to planting Spanish hemp
in the highlands around Mexico City. In 1587, a Spaniard of At-
lixco, Puebla, also in the Central Highlands, requested the use of
six Indians to plant hemp. It is not known whether the request was
granted. About a century later, a different family, also from At-
lixco, began producing hemp commercially, on a modest scale, and
continued until 1761. In the 1770s, the Spanish Crown launched a
concerted campaign to foment hemp production in Mexico, with
indifferent success. One of the biggest problems was lack of seeds,
which, according to colonial authorities, could not be bought
in Mexico. And that is the entire known history of marijuana in
Mexico up to that point: a few early crops of hemp, alcohol and
tobacco aplenty, but no marijuana at all, strictly speaking—that is,
not a word about any psychoactive cannabis.
No word, that is, were it not for a studious priest of the Central
Highlands, José Antonio Alzate y Ramírez, a relative of the great
Mexican poet and intellectual Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. One day in
the 1760s, Alzate y Ramírez had learned that indigenous people of
his locality not far from Mexico City were consuming preparations
that they called (in the native language) pipiltzintzintlis, concoctions
that gave them access, somehow, to the spirit world. Fearing pagan
idolatry, the priest acquired a bit of the mysterious pipiltzintzintlis
and found to his amazement that, as far as he could see, it was sim-
ply the leaves and seeds of European cannabis. He planted a seed
and what sprouted, Cannabis sativa, confirmed his hypothesis. It
seems that, although commercial hemp production hardly existed
in colonial Mexico, people, especially indigenous people, had con-
tinued to cultivate it, but, clearly, to use it for something other than
fiber. Alzate y Ramírez informed those trying to grow cordage and
sails for the Spanish Empire where they could find hemp seeds in
Mexico. Go to the marketplace and ask for pipiltzintzintlis. Look
for the indigenous herbolarias.
Herbolarias, herb dealers, sold bundles of dried this and that,
leaves, seeds, roots, and flowers of all descriptions. A little chamo-
mile tea, some flax seed, or a dose of psilocybin. Herbolarias were
generally indigenous women, and they possessed indigenous, as
well as Spanish, botanical and medicinal lore. They also knew
about hallucinogens, we would say today, because Mexico has the
richest hallucinogenic flora in the world, teonanácatl (mushrooms
from which psilocybin is refined) and peyote (cactus buds from
ing” of the slave masters that “smoking maconha makes the blacks
lazy,” which was not recorded before the twentieth century, either.
So, stepping back from the pervasive but vague oral tradition,
what proof exists of maconha’s presence in Brazil before the twen-
tieth century? The first contemporary trace of maconha in Brazil
(potentially, anyway) occurs in a legal document dated 1747. The
“crime” in question isn’t quite clear. Inquisitors were interrogating
a young man accused of illicit sexual activities (with other young
men), when he admitted that they had gotten “loaded” by drinking
and smoking before their frolic. He didn’t say what they had been
smoking, and the inquisitors didn’t ask. They were more focused
on the sex. Interestingly, this young man was a musician from Por-
tugal, although his buddies were partly of African descent. A sec-
ond contemporary trace (presuming that it is accurate) comes only
in 1830, when the city council of Rio de Janeiro supposedly banned
the sale of pito de pango, a name for maconha on the East African
coast. The document is widely mentioned but is not preserved in
any archive. Then, in 1867, an English traveler described slaves
frittering away their Sundays smoking what he termed “hashish,”
which he had also encountered in India and on the African coast.
There are a few other random anecdotes, a weak form of historical
evidence.
This is alarmingly little documentation for a supposedly wide-
spread activity over a period of centuries. True enough, the shreds
of evidence that we do have—legal prohibitions, judicial inquiries,
and travelers’ accounts—are commonly the historical glimpses that
one gets of cultural activities scorned by the Brazilian ruling class.
In conjunction with oral traditions, they confirm that maconha was
present in Brazil by the mid-1800s. But they give no reliable indi-
cation of how, or from where, maconha came to Brazil. After all,
African words might just as naturally have been applied by Afri-
cans to a familiar-looking plant (Portuguese hemp) that Europeans
had definitely planted in Brazil. In fact, the notable lack of written
evidence, despite decades of slavery studies, shows that maconha
simply cannot have been very common among slaves, in Brazil or
anywhere else in the New World. Police, travelers, and plantation
owners would have left more written evidence about a common
ing it for several days, was much more laborious and protracted.
Consequently, brewing was usually women’s work, viewed as an
offshoot of cooking, which beer making has most often been in tra-
ditional societies around the world. This sort of beer had a much
lower alcohol content than palm wine, as low as 2 percent, but it
was quite nutritious and, like most historical beer, had the consis-
tency of gruel. Palm wine and millet beer were drunk to celebrate
social gatherings, to close commercial contracts, to bond with new
relations at a wedding party, to facilitate tears at a funeral, and to
communicate with departed spirits. Africans showed their esteem
for ethanol by reserving it mostly for their “big men,” the senior
leaders of villages, clans, tribes, and kingdoms. Still, though widely
produced and highly valued, ethanol was less abundant in Africa
than elsewhere in the Atlantic World.
The magic of altered consciousness was a scarce resource in
Africa, often a perquisite of the powerful. It belonged to a more
general category of scarce resource: food. Most of Africa’s econo-
mies were subsistence economies, geared to produce sufficiency,
with little surplus. Senior males drank deeply themselves and also
distributed the prized substance to their friends and followers.
Younger men, and women of any age, were less likely to consume
alcohol in Africa. Few other generalizations can be made about
psychoactive drugs in these extremely diverse, small-scale societ-
ies, except to say that, around 1500, cannabis, too, seems to have
been present in many of them.
Cannabis was much newer and more sparsely and unevenly rep-
resented in sub-Saharan African life than was ethanol, however.
Once again, only a tiny smattering of written references exists, in
contrast to a much better documented history of drink. European
travelers make scattered mention of cannabis, using especially the
words dagga and riamba, mostly in the 1800s. A few broad outlines
emerge from what they say. Above all, they indicate that Africans
pioneered smoking cannabis. Archeological evidence now shows
the existence of pipes predating the introduction of tobacco to
Africa. There are a great variety of water-pipe designs, including
a number made from gourds, as would later be common in Brazil.
Several travelers found people smoking to prepare for war, and
another found them doing it to make peace. It was used for physi-
cal work and for rest and recreation. The famous explorer Living-
stone wrote that “all the tribes of the interior” used the pernicious
and stupefying weed.
Nothing clearly differentiates what we know of cannabis in
precolonial Africa from patterns of alcohol use there. People ap-
parently smoked in the absence of alcohol or to augment its effect.
Several illustrations from Angola in the early 1800s show men
smoking water pipes while drinking. In one of those illustrations,
the men are drinking, probably cachaça that was brought from Bra-
zil to trade for slaves. Once again, the preferred euphoriant was al-
cohol, but the great advantage of cannabis was the ease with which
it can be grown, stored, and transported, attributes making it less
costly. It is indicative, surely, that the hunter-gathering Khoisan
peoples, the Bushmen of Africa’s southern deserts—whose mate-
rial culture is totally minimalist—were early adopters of dagga, as
they called it, applying a name formerly used for another hallu-
cinogen, datura. Notably, they were not using cannabis to replace
alcohol, but something much stronger.
Cannabis had been south of the Congo River for only a few hun-
dred years when Europeans arrived. Linguistic studies indicate
that it was introduced on Africa’s east coast, along the shores of
the Indian Ocean, sometime between the years 1000 and 1300, and
then diffused gradually westward. (See map.) Bhang, the tradi-
tional name for cannabis on Africa’s east coast, comes from Hindi.
From 1000 to 1500, Indian Ocean traders plied the east coast of
Africa, linking it closely to India, the core area of global cannabis
culture. Most of these traders were Muslims, and Islam became
the religion of Africa’s east coast. The natives of that coast became
cultural intermediaries whose Swahili language, combining Bantu
syntax with Arabic vocabulary, served as a lingua franca. Swahili
intermediaries apparently learned to use bhang from the traders
and then disseminated it inland. The westward diffusion of bhang
can be traced in the changing names applied to the drug. By the
time it reached the shores of the Atlantic in Angola and the Congo,
it was called riamba, and eventually diamba, names that turned up
later in Brazil.
Medieval Hashish
77
This ale contained little ethanol, and it was thick, with bits of grain
floating in it. In essence, ale was a way to eat barley. Fermenta-
tion served partly as a preservative. In sum, alcohol beverages
constituted a basic part of the European diet, and a few extra cups
more were normally available if people desired to engage in a little
drunken carousing.
The Muslim repression of fermented drinks, in contrast, opened
a tentative space for hashish as the-intoxicant-not-prohibited-by-
the-Qur’an. Hashish was often seen as an alternative to wine. It
was called “the green one” (as opposed to “the red one”) in fre-
quent poems comparing the two. However, the difference in moral
status was only relative. Hashish had not yet appeared in Arabia
during the life of the Prophet, so the Qur’an naturally has nothing
to say about it. Its subsequent appearance in Damascus, Baghdad,
and Cairo, at the center of the medieval Muslim world, brought a
legal reaction against hashish. Eventually, the ongoing elaboration
of hadiths included new, negative references to hashish. And, as
has been explained, hadiths are quasi-scriptural in character. Some
of the new criticisms were attributed directly to Muhammad, giv-
ing them more authority. For example, in one hadith, the Prophet
says, “beware the green one, for it is the greatest wine,” in another,
“beware the wine of the Persians, for it will make you forget the
confession of faith”—“the wine of the Persians,” according to that
hadith, being hashish. Overall, however, the prohibition against
“the red one” was crystal clear, and the religious disapproval of
“the green one,” more debatable.
This mild-but-marked disapproval of hashish in the Sunni tradi-
tion is one key to our story. Though hardly abundant, documenta-
tion of hashish in the medieval Muslim world is better than any-
thing we have on premodern Latin America or Africa. Moreover,
much of that evidence is legal. A score of juridical treatises, in ad-
dition to hadith, have survived to illuminate the story of hashish,
casting the drug in a steadily negative light. Lacking Qur’anic au-
thority, legal scholars made alternative arguments against hashish.
They reasoned that intoxication itself being the reason wine was
banned, intoxicating hashish should be banned by analogy. And
under foot and crushed through people’s toes. Nor has the green
one ever been used to perform hocus-pocus at Christian altars. It
is something fun and new and stylish and less sinful than wine.
Anti-hashish poems, on the other hand, scoff at “the green one”
as “grass” fit for beasts, while wine, on the other hand, “covers
the lowly person with respectability,” because of its expense. Like
wine, hashish represents unearned ecstasy. Such poetry, which
would have been recited at festive gatherings, provides a useful
counterpoint to the dour legal treatises. A final source comprises a
few medieval folk tales recounted in One Thousand and One Nights
and elsewhere, which offer a comical view, as we will observe in
a moment.
Less sinful than wine, but also less prestigious, hashish was le-
gally condemned by the Sunni tradition, yet secretly celebrated by
various sorts of fringe elements and dissenters. Before we get to
the dissenters, though, let’s see how the green one first appeared
in Iraq, Syria, and Egypt, the center of the Muslim world, around
1100, and then discuss the use that might be called simply “recre-
ational.”
nabis drug. The word cannabis (qinnab in Arabic) had long existed
in the eastern Mediterranean, with no connection to intoxicating
drugs, and the same could be said for hemp (banj in Arabic). As for
hashish, it was a familiar Arabic word that, around 1123, acquired a
new meaning. Before that time, hashish had referred vaguely to ani-
mal fodder (grass), medicinal plants (herbs), or unwanted growth
in the garden (weeds). Get it? The new cannabis drug was being
called “grass” or “herb” or “weed.” Hashish was medieval Arabic
slang, in other words, that eventually became the standard Arabic
term for the drug.
Alias “the green one,” hashish had many other aliases. A long
list of them includes about seventy. Many are associated with
particular regions or cities. For example, the people of Baghdad
(supposedly) called hashish “the daughter of the bag,” a play on
the common expression “daughter of the cask” (wine). Certain
professions and social types supposedly had their own code terms
for hashish. Many of these terms seem fanciful inventions, but oth-
ers had evident currency. Porters (supposedly) called hashish “the
one that lightens the load”; philosophers, “the morsel of thought”;
songstresses, “branches of bliss”—and so on, through gypsies,
leather workers, cooks, water carriers, builders, homosexuals, as-
trologers, grave diggers, corpse washers, dealers in herbs and po-
tions, falconers, merchants, and pimps, ending with Satan and his
cohorts, who called hashish “the huntress.” The “devil’s own list of
hashish synonyms,” as it is called, critiques the wide, but normally
covert, use of the drug.
Hashish was collected wild, grown in private gardens and public
parks, and cultivated commercially for sale. At certain times, in
certain places, it was tolerated and taxed, but the authorities oc-
casionally cracked down on growers. There is news of crops being
burned in Cairo in 1253, for example, then again in 1324. In con-
trast to taverns, which could exist because non-Muslims were often
free to drink wine, one found no public establishments for eating
hashish. Instead, there were particular streets, or houses, or shady
spots where hashish eaters gathered to carouse, and perhaps recite
verses in praise of the green one. Several anecdotes mention hash-
ish eaters in the public baths that were a common feature of urban
for the next day, for reasons that don’t matter here) a woman,
Scheherazade, must entertain the prince with her storytelling. She
chooses the most compelling material—bawdy, lurid, and action-
packed—and she cuts off each story halfway . . . to be continued,
for a thousand nights. A number of the stories mention hashish. In
“The Tale of the Hashish Eater,” a man eats hashish, goes to the
public bath, falls asleep there, and has erotic fantasies that cause
him to awaken with his hand on his erection amid the laughter of
onlookers. In a second story, a hashish eater exiting the public bath
passes an attractive young man entering, does an about-face, and
follows him back in. (The green one made him do it.) In a third
hashish-in-the-public-bath story (this one not from One Thousand
and One Nights) the hashish-eating patron walks out of the bath
wearing a towel, enters a second bath unaware of what he’s doing,
and, at the end of the afternoon, can’t find his clothes. A crowd
leads him naked through the street back to the first bath, shouting
“hurrah for hashish.”
Overall, the common denominator of such popular stories involv-
ing hashish eaters is foolishness. Hashish makes people lose touch
with reality, and the result is silly and undignified. So, did you
hear the one about the hashish eater who went out for grapes and
barley? He gave the grapes to his donkey and the barley to his wife!
There are several stories about hashish eaters mistaking the glow of
moonlight for water on the ground. One tells of a poet who, having
recited his poetry at a gathering of hashish eaters, goes out into the
moonlit street. The moonlight shines on the ground, and thinking
that it has inexplicably flooded, the poet hikes up his robe to keep it
dry. Passersby witness his indignity and make fun of him. Another
hashish eater, mistaking the moonlight for water, tries to dive into
it. Hashish eaters? They could mistake a camel for a gnat!
The effects of hashish per se, it seems fair to say, did not seem
very threatening to the disapproving majority. Medieval Arabic
sources never suggest that hashish eating led to criminal behavior,
much less violence (not even theft to pay for the drug), despite its
being considered strongly habit-forming. The distaste directed at
hashish seems to derive more from associated patterns of devi-
ance, such as religious dissidence and homosexuality (whether real
The men called Sufis accepted the Qur’an and thought of them-
selves as “God’s Friends,” but they were unruly friends. Main-
stream Sunnis regarded Sufis with stern disapproval, and only
partly because some Sufis ate hashish. In general, Sufis took a
contrasting approach to religion, scorning the proprieties of Sunni
Muslim society.
From the first, Islam contained both world-renouncing and
world-embracing, both prophetic and legalist, currents. The Qur’an
exhorted Muslims to look beyond mundane concerns and lift their
eyes toward heaven, but it also provided detailed instructions on
how to live a Godly life on earth. One could say that the Qur’an
is largely devoted to providing those instructions. The creation
of a divinely ordered society was perhaps the central impulse of
Muhammad’s prophecy. The result was a powerful social and
religious emphasis on law. After the Qur’an, the primary basis
for Islamic law were the words and deeds of Muhammad, called
sunna, and these are not recorded in the Qur’an. Instead, they
were derived from many sources, principally oral traditions that
were painstakingly verified and eventually written down as ha-
diths. Commentary on the sunna was the primary occupation of
religious scholars in what we now call Sunni society. The firmly
world-embracing Sunni outlook was majority and mainstream in
the medieval Muslim world.
And yet, there were always world-renouncers—people disposed
to withdraw from society and seek a different spiritual path. These
were the Sufis, whose name refers to the rough wool cloak they
wore, scorning comfort. They are often described as “mystics,” but
what most helps to understand them is their radical rejection of the
whole Sunni approach to religion, including, notably, its legalism.
Sunnis tried to live Godly lives in society, and their accumulated
legal writings supplied a complex web of guidelines for doing so.
Sufis turned their backs on society and its laws. Sufis put their en-
ergies into a daily quest for a direct encounter with divinity, some-
what as did the Christian friars of medieval Europe. Like European
friars, Sufis might withdraw into the wilderness, subsist on alms,
and devote all their time to prayer and meditation. They might
live together, forming a Sufi order that could multiply its houses
and spread geographically over time. The founders of particular
Sufi orders were spiritual teachers who prescribed a particular
way of seeking to know God—such as meditative techniques—
and attracted followers who adopted the same techniques. These
Sufi masters were regarded as saints after death, and their tombs
became centers of veneration and pilgrimage. Like the Prophet
Muhammad, Sufi masters claimed no divinity for themselves;
rather, they were men who helped other men find God. More than
dissidents disposed to argue against the Sunni rules, Sufis were
nonconformists who simply ignored the rules.
During the 800s and 900s, when the word hashish still referred
merely to animal fodder or garden weeds, Sufism had become a
familiar and tolerated part of the Muslim world. Gradually, new
Sufi orders appeared, particularly in non–Arabic-speaking regions,
such as Persia and Sindh, at the western margin of India. In the
1200s, a new religious practice grew out of Sufism and went be-
yond it. The new practitioners redoubled the world-renouncing
tendencies present among Sufis, utterly denying themselves the
comforts of a normal life and rejecting social norms in their spiri-
tual quest. Because the redoubled ascetic practice arose among
Sufis, the practitioners were still Sufis in the view of outsiders.
Yet because they were reacting against the respectable Sufism of
their day (partly by eating hashish), we need a different name for
them: dervishes. You may have heard of the whirling variety of
dervishes, and now you know what set them whirling.
The two most important dervish groups were called Haydaris
and Qalandars. Like earlier Sufis, dervishes were followers of
particular spiritual teachers whose teachings outlived them. The
Haydaris were followers of the Persian master named Qutb al-
Din Haydar. In the mid-1100s, Haydar renounced the world and
withdrew from society to live in the wilderness. The legend of his
“discovery” of hashish has often been repeated. One day, the story
goes, Haydar noticed that a particular plant swayed as if in the
breeze, and yet there was no breeze. Curious, he ate some of the
plant, which was cannabis, of course, and he found the result en-
lightening. Thereafter, Haydar taught his followers to eat hashish,
saying that it held spiritual “secrets.” He directed his followers to
plant hashish around his tomb, so that pilgrims who came to visit
it would find a ready supply.
Haydar’s single-handed “discovery” of hashish in 1155 is the
stuff of legend. In truth, the people of northeastern Persia, at the
doorstep of Central Asia, where Haydar supposedly discovered
hashish, already knew all about it. In addition to Persians, many of
his early followers were Turkic speakers who were entering Persia
from Central Asia in these years. Haydar’s followers multiplied
and spread their practice west to Iraq, Syria, and Egypt. They were
not the only dervishes, either.
branch counted twelve known imams and awaited news of the next
still-unknown one, termed “the hidden imam.” The faithful believed
that the hidden imam would appear one day to reclaim the caliph-
ate, which more or less never happened. Instead, Shiites remained a
powerless and frustrated minority almost everywhere in the Muslim
world, the greatest exception being Persia.
The Persian Nizaris were a splinter group that represented a split
(actually two successive splits) within Shi’a ranks. Nizaris accepted
only the first seven of the “twelve known imams.” After that, they
recognized a different lineage of imams starting with one named
Ismail, hence Nizari Ismailis. People dissatisfied with the exist-
ing order tended to gravitate toward Shi’a groups, and especially
toward the Ismailis, because of their looking-for-a-change orienta-
tion. Ismaili beliefs were notably changeable, often unorthodox,
and above all, secret, revealed only to initiates. Ismailis admitted
a metaphorical reading of the Qur’an, and, like Sufis, they had a
tendency to disregard the accumulated tradition of Sunni religious
law-giving. Compared with other Shiites, Ismailis challenged the
mainstream Sunni order more aggressively. After gaining converts
in Iraq, Persia, Yemen, and Syria, a Hidden Imam revealed himself
and was able to establish an Ismaili caliphate in Egypt in the year
973. This was called the Fatimid dynasty because its legitimacy
depended partly on claims of descent from the Prophet’s daughter,
Fatima. The Fatimid caliphate dominated Egypt for two centuries,
a major eruption of Shi’a power in the heartland of Sunni Islam.
The Nizaris broke away from other Ismailis when their candidate
for Fatimid caliph was murdered in 1095.
Now that we have a better view of the Nizaris, we can better un-
derstand the motivations of both the Nizari assassins and their de-
tractors. Although they did assassinate one high-profile Christian
crusader prince, the Nizaris’ main targets were other Muslims, the
Seljuk Turks who were just then taking over the Baghdad caliph-
ate and the Sunni power structure that went with it. The Sunnis
regarded the Nizari assassinations as treacherous and ignoble, so
they might well hurl an insult into the teeth of the Nizaris: “Hash-
ishiyya! Riffraff! Lowly hashish eaters!” Rare is the blood enemy
not tagged with an insulting name, after all.
But why this particular name? Shi’a groups did have a reputation
for attracting poor and marginal people, so that may account for the
“lowly” part. But Arabic is not without meaningful insults to hurl
at an enemy. Why call the Nizaris hashish eaters if the term lacked
specificity in their case? And if it was a random insult, in which the
particular content of the slur was irrelevant, then why did it stick
so powerfully? After all, we are not trying to understand how an
angry person could call the Nizaris “hashish eaters” in a moment of
pique. To the contrary, this derisive nickname for the group became
so widely known that many European witnesses (not catching the
reference to hashish) thought it was a proper name.
That suggests more than a random insult.
Let’s reason carefully here. No historical source gives any indi-
cation that Nizari assassins consumed any drug to carry out their
assassinations. The Nizari assassin was a one-man sleeper cell,
whose entire efficacy depended on escaping the slightest suspicion
as he gained the confidence of his target. In all credible sources that
specifically mention a drug (and many do not), the drug merely
attracts new recruits with visions of a heavenly reward. Its main
effect is to put them to sleep. No source names hashish, except of
course, by insistently calling the Nizaris “hashish eaters.”
On the other hand, Arabic speakers had every reason to view the
Nizaris as Persians, and they associated hashish with Persia, as we
have seen. The Nizari leadership was unquestionably Persian, and
their liturgical language seems to have been Persian, too, rather
than Arabic. Although the Nizaris had a Syrian offshoot (the most
famous for its daring assassinations), they were in fact primarily a
Persian group. Furthermore, the group’s stronghold lay in north-
east Persia (on the doorstep of Central Asia), the same area where
Haydar supposedly “discovered” hashish and founded the dervish
order that made his name synonymous with hashish.
Also very salient for Arabic speakers was the group’s radical
religious dissidence. In their commitment to worldly struggle,
not to mention their violent tactics, the Nizaris were totally un-
like the contemplative Sufis. Still, both were antinomians (nomos is
Greek for law), which means that neither had much time for Sunni
proprieties and prohibitions. For the Nizaris, the reappearance of
Asian Origins
HISTORIC INDIA
103
Ginsberg has real knowledge of his topic, obviously, and he’s quite
correct in linking ganja, the great Hindu deity Shiva, and the holy
men he calls yogis—but his description greatly exaggerates the role
of cannabis drugs in Indian civilization. Popular histories of mari-
juana have perpetuated this error for half a century. In fact, good
information on cannabis drugs in India is amazingly scarce before
the twentieth century.
India’s cannabis drugs came to the attention of modern Europe-
ans early in the age of European seaborne imperialism and coloni-
zation, when sailors and explorers sent back reports of a cannabis
drink called bhang, a word that the reader may recall. An early
Portuguese chronicler in India, Garcia da Orta, remarked that his
Indian servants told him bhang improved their mood, stimulated
their appetite, and helped them work. “I believe that it is so gener-
ally used and by such a number of people that there is no mystery
about it,” he wrote. During the period of British colonial rule in
India, cannabis drugs were regulated and taxed. In fact, a British
colonial study, the 1893–1894 Report of the Indian Hemp Drugs Com-
mission, is often cited as the most serious large-scale social study
The profit from its use is for the man to be outside himself, and to
be raised above all cares and anxieties, and it makes some break into
a foolish laugh. I hear that many women take it when they want to
dally and flirt with men. It is also said, but it may not be true, that
the great captains, in ancient times, used to drink it with wine or
with opium, that they might rest from their work, be without care,
and be able to sleep; for the long vigils of such became a torment to
them. The great Sultan Bahadur said to Martim Affonso de Souza, to
whom he wished every good thing and to whom he told his secrets,
that when at night he wanted to go to Portugal, Brazil, Turkey, Ara-
bia, or Persia, he only had to take a little BANGUE.
and where cannabis grew in India, how it was regarded, how and
where it was consumed, and by whom. Its information-gathering
drew on thousands of witnesses over a period of years, and though
the result is patchy, the broad outlines are clear. To begin, the com-
mission found an enormous contrast between bhang (the drink)
and ganja.
The bhang drink was consumed seasonally and communally. It
was made mostly from cannabis that grew wild or with minimal
cultivation. Because of this, and because it was usually made from
the leaves of both male and female plants, the bhang drink was
only mildly psychoactive. Customs varied regionally, as do all
things Indian, and generally bhang was more northern than south-
ern. The drink was a traditional accompaniment of celebrations,
such as weddings. Certain religious festivals called for it specifi-
cally. On the last day of the Bengali festival of Durga Puja, for ex-
ample, families offered cups of bhang to their guests, and all were
expected “to partake thereof, or at least place it to the lips in token
of acceptance,” according to the 1890s commission report. Depend-
ing on the locality, just about everybody, up and down the social
hierarchy, might drink bhang during a festival, and then might not
drink it again for a year. It appears that men drank bhang more
than did women, but bhang was often made and drunk in a do-
mestic setting. Few considered it to be harmful.
Traditional patterns suggest that bhang-drinking may well have
occurred in Indian villages from time immemorial. Bhang is made
by the same basic technique—pounding, steeping, and straining—as
prescribed by the Rig Veda for soma, the hallucinogenic drink of the
priestly caste of preclassical India, more than three thousand years
ago. Strainers that might have been used for the bhang drink have
been found, too, by archeologists excavating Harappa and Mohenjo
Daro, principal cities of the Indus Valley civilization (of modern
Pakistan), unquestionably the earliest in South Asia, thriving a full
millennium before the Rig Veda. Overall, the Indian Hemp Drugs
Commission found the bhang drink integrated with many ancient
and pervasive rhythms of Indian life. Most of the commission’s in-
formants believed outlawing bhang would be viewed, by Indians at
large, as an unwarranted colonial repression of established tradition.
Ganja and charas, on the other hand, were something else again.
Here, not to put too fine a point on it, were the serious drug us-
ers: men (exclusively) who tended to consume daily, usually by
smoking ganja or charas in a stemless chillum. The chillum may
have been invented by pulling the bowl off a hookah. Its unusual
stemless shape requires a seemingly clumsy maneuver to smoke it
while keeping it upright. But the maneuver gave the chillum an ad-
vantage in India. Smokers often passed a chillum around, and each
smoker inhaled through his own cupped hand, not placing his lips
on the pipe itself and thus avoiding an indirect contact forbidden
by caste strictures.
The British had a particularly good grasp of who, and how
many, smoked ganja because they licensed its production, super-
vised its distribution, and taxed its sale. (Clearly, this information
is relevant to the commission’s final decision not to prohibit can-
nabis drugs.) Their production took place entirely on “a compact
tract having a radius of about sixteen miles,” called the Ganja
Mahal (I am not making that up), in what was then Bengal, today
Bangladesh. There the ground was prepared meticulously, the
plants trimmed to encourage growth of the flowering tops, and the
males culled to prevent the females from going to seed. (Note that
the Ganja Mahal produced sin semilla.) Bengal ganja was consid-
ered the best ganja in India, and the Ganja Mahal was the largest
producer, sending its product across the entire north. Therefore,
the commission was able to make quite informed estimates about
the size of the consuming market, district by district, especially for
the populous province of Bengal. By their calculation, the ganja-
smoking population of rural districts was almost always under 1
percent, contrasting with urban Calcutta, at 5.4 percent. For the
province as a whole, they estimated that ganja smokers amounted
to something like one in fifty adult males.
One in fifty may be an undercount, of course. Still, the number is
remarkably small by any standard. Unlike the “almost everybody”
descriptions of occasional bhang drinking, ganja had a narrow
social profile, according to the commission. Most generally, ganja
users were men of the lower classes, whether Hindu or Muslim.
They were village farmers, tradesmen, and artisans, fishermen and
who did. In the 1890s, the commission reported that, in general, In-
dians were quite tolerant of the “grandfathers” who rarely bothered
to conceal themselves from passersby when they huddled in a circle
to share a chillum.
Babas sharing a chillum were likely to dedicate it to the awesome
Lord Shiva, one of the three chief Hindu deities. An alakh, a ritual
invocation pronounced with the first puff of a chillum, is today
normally addressed to Shiva. It can be long or short, a summons,
a request, a declaration of well-being, calling Shiva “Mahdeva,”
or Great Lord, and thereby acknowledging a special devotion. An
anthropologist of the 1960s heard a baba say: “Hello Shiva, you
come here. I want to one chillum together smoking.” Importantly,
Shiva was himself a practitioner of the ascetic arts, himself a yogi
often depicted meditating in the lotus position. Ganja helped the
Indian myths say that Shiva brought the bhang plant down from
the Himalayas that define the northern edge of the subcontinent.
That makes sense, because the people whose sacred liturgies be-
came the Vedas entered India themselves from the north around
1500 BCE. They were coming from the Eurasian steppes, a region
that plays a surprisingly important role in our story.
Across Eurasia, from the Black Sea to Mongolia, stretch eight mil-
lion square kilometers of plains too arid to support agriculture.
From the perspective of the Atlantic World, the Eurasian steppes
seem remote indeed—but they are actually central to global his-
tory. Psychoactive use of cannabis on and around the steppes is
the oldest about which we have direct evidence. Among written
sources, only Herodotus, the Greek “Father of History,” has much
to say about our topic, which is otherwise mostly prehistoric.
Therefore, the following discussion will depend especially on ar-
chaeology. First, though, fascinating linguistic evidence helps get
a fix on the Vedic people, who certainly brought psychoactive can-
nabis to India if it wasn’t there already. To approach that evidence,
we’ll return momentarily to India, where a British scholar William
Jones noticed something about Sanskrit as he studied the Vedas in
the 1780s.
Jones believed that Sanskrit bore a clear family resemblance
to Latin and Greek. He was quite correct. In fact, Sanskrit, along
with the language of neighboring Iran, Farsi, bears a family
resemblance to European languages in general. How did the
resemblance come about? Scholars have been pondering that
question for two centuries now. One of their tools has been “his-
torical linguistics,” a field of study that was invented, more or
less, to address this very question. A family resemblance, the
thinking goes, can only result from common descent. All the
tongues in what historical linguists began to call—in a tribute to
Jones’s foundational insight—the Indo-European language fam-
ily must have branched from a single trunk that sprouted many
of the Black Sea and wrote at length about the steppe people. He
called them Scythians, and they became the European archetype of
frightful steppe “barbarians.” (The ancient Greeks called most non-
Greeks “barbarians.”) Unlike later steppe people (Huns and Mon-
gols, for example), Scythian horse archers were often blond and
blue-eyed. Nazi myth-makers liked to imagine them as “Aryan”
warrior forebears. Herodotus believed that among the Scythians
were female warriors called Amazons, and archeologists have
indeed found tombs of Scythian women buried with weapons. At
one point, after describing the kind of lavish royal funeral in which
scores of servants were executed and interred along with their king
to accompany him to the underworld, Herodotus describes an act
of self-purification practiced by surviving Scythian mourners after
the tomb was sealed. The famous passage is often cited but rarely
quoted in full, which is too bad:
felt, and wood had been preserved only because of the permafrost.
Rudenko found the rods in every frozen tomb he opened. He be-
lieved that cannabis was being used not just after burials but as an
everyday “narcotic” (his term), and by both women and men.
But were the Scythians really getting high in this way? Because
cannabis seeds do not contain much (if any) THC, the Scythian
technique would work psychoactively only if “smokers” were
throwing the seeded, flowering tops of cannabis on the hot stones,
rather than seeds alone. Moistened flowering tops would have
emitted a mixture of smoke and steam as described by Herodotus.
The ash, which was not found, would surely have washed away
when the tombs flooded. There are other reports of this sort of
“smoking” by related peoples who threw (unidentified) green
plants on a fire to inhale the smoke. Similarly, temple incense in
the ancient world as a whole involved inhaling the smoke of a
smoldering censer in an enclosed space. A 2013 archaeological
find in northern Pakistan suggests a similar practice in caves along
the Kunar River in prehistoric times. On balance, though there are
skeptics, archeologists today generally accept that the Scythians
inhaled psychoactive cannabis smoke.
A close reading of Herodotus suggests that a psychoactive strain
of cannabis was already separate from hemp. The people of the
steppe had relatively little use for hemp fiber because, as with
herding societies generally, their animals supplied abundant wool
and leather to take the place of plant fibers. The frozen tombs
contained hemp fiber only in the stitching of a few garments. In
discussing the Scythian purification ritual, Herodotus digresses to
compare cannabis to flax and tell how the Thracians (who live on
the forested edge of the steppe) make fine linen of cannabis fiber.
The Scythians did nothing comparable with the fiber, which is the
reason for the digression. The Scythians apparently cultivated no
hemp. And yet Herodotus specifies that while cannabis grew wild
on the steppe, some was cultivated.
Herodotus also reveals that the Scythians weren’t inhaling can-
nabis vapor merely for fun, even if it made them shout for joy. The
purification ritual is described quite clearly as a cleansing bath, the
only sort that Scythian men ever took. The bath involved spiritual,
Once the horse archers of the steppe had gained a decisive military
advantage over everyone around them, they went wherever they
chose. Generally, that wasn’t north, into the frozen coniferous for-
ests of Siberia. It was east, west, and south, which is to say, China,
Europe, and India. They carried cannabis with them, and their
diverging paths created the great divide between sativa and indica.
Observe.
The steppe is frigid, which made the south particularly appeal-
ing. But the steppe is bounded on the south by a series of barri-
ers—mountains, deserts, inland seas—making it difficult to exit
in a southerly direction. The most privileged place of north–south
transit, historically, was the space between the Aral Sea and the
Himalayas. There, thirsty travelers from the steppe could depend
on rivers that flow down from the mountains to create fertile oases
in the desert. We’ve been referring to this place as the doorstep of
Central Asia, but now we’ll be more precise, and call it the “Oxus”
region, Oxus being the ancient name of its most important river,
the Amu Darya.
Meanwhile, people were migrating east and west off the steppe,
along more northerly latitudes, into China and Europe, too. There
are some indications that wild cannabis had preceded them. Stud-
ies of prehistoric pollen indicate the possibility that cannabis had
spread east and west to opposite ends of Eurasia well before the
domestication of plants and animals. China and Europe would
eventually become the world’s main areas of cannabis cultiva-
tion, but their crops would remain strictly hemp, a matter of both
cultivation and climate. No sort of cannabis plant could develop
abundant cannabinoids, it seems, when planted on the shores of
the Yellow River or the Baltic Sea.
The Chinese apparently adopted hemp from the steppe pastoral-
ists who appeared on their northern border in the second millen-
nium BCE. Traces of the nomads’ arrival—the bones of horses—are
unmistakable in the Lung-shan Neolithic farming culture that was
then emerging on the alluvial plains of the Yellow River. Then,
around 1200 BCE, in the Shang Dynasty, the first of China’s long
imperial history, there’s even more unmistakable evidence of the
steppe people’s influence: a chariot burial. Archeologists have also
recovered portions of hempen cloth from a Shang-period site in the
far north. The horse archers of the northern border would play a
constant and, occasionally, a leading role in Chinese history. The
Great Wall was built and rebuilt over centuries to keep them out,
but to no avail.
The Chinese were the first to cultivate cannabis on a large scale,
and China’s hemp crop has probably always been the world’s larg-
est. Some less-than-conclusive archeological finds even predate
the arrival of the steppe dwellers. Impressions made by a woven
textile on a still-wet pottery surface have been found at sites as-
sociated with Yang-shao Neolithic farming culture, the earliest
of which there is any evidence in China. These finds could reach
back as far as 4000 BCE, and the textile in question was probably
hempen, but the imprints do not permit positive identification. In
addition, there are several even older cordage imprints that also
may have been made by cannabis, such as one on the island of
Taiwan, from a period preceding the emergence of China’s Yellow
River civilization. Perhaps these are associated with the seafaring
depends not at all on the personal qualities of the priest who of-
ficiates. The priest’s script, so to speak, is everything, his personal
ability, nothing. In contrast, personal ability is crucial for a shaman,
whose arcane knowledge consists mostly in a set of techniques
enabling him to operate within the spirit world. Shamans’ inter-
ventions may be somewhat scripted, but they necessarily involve
improvisation. In sum, priests may sense a spiritual presence, but
their work does not depend on it, while shamans must sense a spir-
itual presence and interact with it. Their success depends largely
on imagination and creativity.
The world’s best-known shaman ever is probably the one de-
picted by Carlos Castañeda in The Teachings of Don Juan: A Ya-
qui Way of Knowledge (1968), a published version of the author’s
doctoral dissertation in anthropology. The book made a stir and
spawned best-selling sequels. The field research has been chal-
lenged, but the representation of shamanic training is highly
informed and provides an excellent illustration. Don Juan, an
ordinary looking, elderly Mexican of indigenous descent, is a
man of few words. He explains virtually nothing about the spirit
world. Instead, he gives Castañeda precise instructions on how to
prepare and ingest three entheogens—peyote, datura, and psilo-
cybin mushrooms—each of which is understood as a spirit and,
potentially, an “ally.” To make friends with a potential ally, the
author is instructed to dance in front of the plant on successive
days. Eventually, he ingests the entheogens one by one, on sepa-
rate occasions, to audition with their spirits, so to speak. Different
shamans find different allies, a matter of personal affinities. Casta-
ñeda’s experiences vary from baffling to terrifying, the furthest
thing imaginable from “recreational.” The teachings of Don Juan
are, in essence, a set of supervised, drug-induced trances, training
for a would-be visionary. The spiritual insights acquired by the
apprentice come not from the teacher’s words but from direct,
personal experience.
In sum, entheogens are used as part of a spiritual quest, and
cannabis is among the world’s most frequent entheogens. Physical
evidence of cannabis drugs before around 700 BCE is limited and
questionable, but whenever and however it took place, the first
Epiphanies
133
139
GETTING HIGH
AMERICAN CENTURY
The last century of the story is by far the best known, and my
telling of it is conventional. The indispensable study for the early
twentieth-century is Richard J. Bonnie and Charles H. Whitebread,
141
ATLANTIC WORLD
MEDIEVAL HASHISH
hashish occur frequently in One Thousand and One Nights, but the
drug is more or less central to three stories in particular: “The Tale
of the Hashish Eater,” “The Tale of the Two Hashish Eaters,” and
“The Tale of the Second Captain of Police.” A variety of other tales
have been collected by Andrew C. Kimmens, Hashish Tales (New
York: Morrow, 1975).
See Booth, Cannabis, for a much fuller discussion of hashish ex-
perimenters in nineteenth-century Europe and the United States,
including (on page 86) the quotation from Théophile Gautier,
the creator of the Parisian Hashish Eaters Club. The writings of
nineteenth-century European and U.S. experimenters make inter-
esting reading without contributing much to the global history of
marijuana. Fitz Hugh Ludlow’s account has been reprinted as The
Hasheesh Eater: Being Passages from the Life of a Pythagorean (New
Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2006).
The history of modern hashish, the concentrated resin, is not
covered by the present book, except for speculations in chapter
5 about its possible origins along the Silk Road. Its major export-
ers have been Lebanon, Morocco, Afghanistan, and Nepal. Egypt
has been an important consuming country. Also not covered here
is Moroccan kif, which is a mixture of chopped cannabis and to-
bacco. See Laurence Cherniak, The Great Books of Hashish (Berke-
ley, CA: And/Or Press, 1979).
ASIAN ORIGINS
ized, steeped, and strained, as for the bhang drink. The soma plant
itself has not been positively identified. In addition, “owing to the
difficulty of obtaining the actual soma plant, several substitutes
were used,” and there were at least five possible admixtures that
cannot be positively identified, either. The bhang plant was recog-
nized as belonging to the “family” of soma and may have figured
occasionally as one of its active ingredients. See Parati Ghosal, Life-
style of the Vedic People (New Delhi: DKPrintworld, 2006).
The early prehistory of marijuana is still emerging and must be
pieced together from scattered sources. See Duvall, Cannabis. The
Herodotus quotation is from the classic 1910 History of Herodotus,
translated by George Rawlinson, with a few modifications for
the sake of clarity. (Rawlinson translated the word cannabis as
“hemp,” for example.) Duvall doubts that the famous account by
Herodotus involved psychoactive cannabis, but the archeologist
who unearthed the equipment described by the Greek historian
had no doubts in the matter. See Sergei I. Rudenko, Frozen Tombs of
Siberia: The Pazyryk Burials of Iron Age Horsemen (London: J. M. Dent
and Sons, 1970; first published in Russian, 1953). The leading late-
twentieth-century archeologist of prehistoric drug use agreed with
Rudenko. See Andrew Sherratt, “Sacred and Profane Substances:
The Ritual Use of Narcotics in Later Neolithic Europe,” in Economy
and Society in Prehistoric Europe: Changing Perspectives (Princeton,
NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997), 403–30. David Lewis-Wil-
liams and David Pearce explore the prehistory of religion in Inside
the Neolithic Mind: Consciousness, Cosmos, and the Realm of the Gods
(London: Thames and Hudson, 2005).
EPIPHANIES
147
Oseberg ship burial, 126, 127 Prohibition, 11, 18–19, 22, 24–26
Oxus region, 120–21 propaganda, anti-marijuana:
Assassin legends, 4, 94;
pacifism, 33 illegalization arguments, 6–12;
paganism, 126–27 racist-based, 17–18, 27; reefer
pain relief, 3 madness and criminality, 4, 16,
Pakistan, 77, 110, 118, 198 21, 25, 27, 57, 94
Panama Canal Zone report, 27, 28 property seizures, 6
peace, 1, 37, 71–72, 74 Propiá (Sergipe), Brazil, 69
Pen-Ts’ao Ching, 123–24 prostitutes, 21, 56
“Perilous Play” (Alcott), 101 Protestantism, 18–19
Peron, Dennis, 8 Proto-Indo-European (language),
Persia (modern Iran), 86, 89, 97–99, 114
101, 113, 121 psilocybin (mushrooms), 33, 52,
peyote cactus, 33, 51, 52–53, 129, 53, 129, 131, 136
131 public opinion: anti-marijuana
pharmaceuticals, 3, 26, 101, 102 public awareness campaigns,
Philippine Islands, 19 26–27; on legalization, modern,
pipes: African water, 64, 65, 8; against marijuana, 9, 57; U.S.
71; English archaeological counterculture and, 37
discoveries of, 126; Indian, pulque, 51, 55, 56, 57
109, 111; Jamaican, 62; Muslim Pure Food and Drug Act, 19
water, 78 purification rituals, 91–92, 116–18,
pipiltzintzintlis, 52, 53–54 117, 118–19
pito de pango, 67
poetry, 81–82, 92–93 Qalandars, 89, 90, 90–92, 100, 110
politics, 9 qinnab, 83
Polo, Marco, 94–95 Qur’an, 79, 80, 87–88, 92
poor man’s drug: Brazilian
marijuana, 66, 69; Colombian racism, 17–18, 23, 27, 31
marijuana, 59; Indian raphia palm wine, 70, 74
marijuana, 109–10; medieval Rastafarians, 63
Muslim hashish, 84, 102; Reagan, Ronald, 40
Mexican marijuana, 56–57; Rebel without a Cause (movie), 31
overview, 133–34, 137; “the red one,” 80
worldwide associations, 76 reefer, 16, 22
Popular Mechanics (magazine), 28 reefer madness, 4, 16, 21, 25, 27,
Portugal, 46, 49, 74, 134–35 57, 94
Posada, José Guadalupe, 56 Reefer Madness (movie), 4, 16
pottery artifacts, 125 reggae, 5, 63
prehistory, 113–20, 117, 127–32, Republicans, 9, 40
128 research studies, 3–4, 27, 28,
prisons, 6, 56, 69 135–36
The Travels of Marco Polo (Polo and early, 16–23, 57–58; marijuana
Rusticiano da Pisa), 94–95 importation, 8, 41, 45, 57–58,
Turkey, 86, 93 63–64; marijuana legalization, 4,
Turkish Hashish Pavilion 6–12, 18–19, 21, 25, 28, 41
(Centennial Exposition), 101–2 U.S. Army, 27
“Turn On, Tune In, and Drop Out” U.S. Department of Agriculture
(counterculture worldview), 35 (USDA), 20
Uyghurs, 125
United Fruit Company, 59
United Nations, 20 Vedas, 105, 108
United States: alcohol production Vedic people, 113, 114–15, 119,
and consumption, 50; alcohol 144–45
restrictions and legislation, Venezuela, 8
11, 17, 18–19, 22, 24–25; anti- Vietnam War, 31–32, 37, 42
marijuana legislation, 4, 6, Vikings, 125–26
21, 25–28; anti-marijuana Villa, Pancho, 20, 58
propaganda, 4, 4 16, 16, 21, visions, 128–29, 130–32, 133
25, 27, 28; colonization and
international drug control, 19–20; War on Drugs, 38–42
conservativism and War on war preparation, 71–72
Drugs, 38–42; counterculture Washington, 7
emergence, 28–37, 38, 42, 76; weed, 73, 83, 89
cultivation and production wine, 79, 83, 84, 107, 119
businesses, 6, 41; cultivation wine of the Persians, 80
and production statistics, 134; witches, 126, 127
decriminalization legislation Women’s Christian Temperance
in, 7; hashish history, 101–2; Union, 24
hemp history, 11–12, 28, Woodstock Music and Art
47–48; imperialism and Festival, 36
trade expansion, 18; India, World War II hemp production, 12
counterculture view of, 103–4;
marijuana associations and Youth International Party (YIP),
prejudice, 4, 17–18, 20, 21, 27; 35–36, 37
marijuana consumption statistics,
8, 75, 134; marijuana exportation, Zambia, 75
59–60, 61; marijuana history, Zulus, 74
157