The Green Phoenix: A Brief History of Cannabis

Cannabis is a genus of flowering plants in the family Cannabaceae, of which Cannabis sativa is the most iconic species. For millennia, this plant has presented a dual face to humanity. On one hand, it is Hemp, the industrial workhorse, a variety with negligible levels of the psychoactive compound THC (tetrahydrocannabinol), cultivated for its durable fiber used in Rope, Textiles, and Paper, and for its nutritious seeds. On the other hand, it is the psychoactive herb—often called marijuana—a variety cultivated for its high concentration of THC, the molecule responsible for the plant’s intoxicating effects. It also contains hundreds of other compounds, or cannabinoids, most notably the non-psychoactive CBD (cannabidiol), which has gained fame for its therapeutic potential. The story of cannabis is not the story of a single substance but of a complex botanical entity whose identity has been continuously shaped and reshaped by human hands. It is a journey from being one of the first domesticated plants, a sacred sacrament and an engine of global commerce, to becoming a demonized pariah and a weapon in a cultural war, only to re-emerge in the 21st century as a subject of intense scientific, medical, and commercial interest. Its history is humanity's history in miniature: a tale of innovation, exploration, culture, conflict, and rediscovery.

The story of cannabis does not begin in a laboratory or a field, but on the windswept steppes of Central Asia, likely on the land that is now Mongolia and southern Siberia. Here, tens of thousands of years ago, the plant co-evolved alongside our Paleolithic ancestors. Long before humans conceived of empires or even cities, cannabis was there, a wild and weedy opportunist thriving in the disturbed soil around temporary encampments. Our first interactions were likely simple: its tough, fibrous stalk offered raw material for crude cordage, and its oil-rich seeds provided a valuable source of protein and fat. It was a humble, practical relationship, born of necessity. The true partnership began with the dawn of the Neolithic Revolution, as humans transitioned from nomadic life to settled agriculture. As we began to cultivate wheat and barley, we also brought cannabis into the fold, making it one of the earliest domesticated plants. Archaeological evidence from the Ouan-an site in modern-day Taiwan reveals pottery shards from 10,000 BCE bearing the distinct impression of twisted hemp cords, a testament to its ancient use in crafting. In China, the plant was foundational. The Yangshao culture, flourishing along the Yellow River around 5000 BCE, wove hemp into cloth, fashioned it into fishing nets, and pressed its seeds for oil. For these early civilizations, Hemp was not a luxury; it was a cornerstone of daily life, as fundamental as clay or wood. Yet, this plant held a secret within its resinous flowers. Beyond its practical utility, some varieties possessed the power to alter consciousness, to open what Aldous Huxley would later call “the doors of perception.” The first definitive evidence of humans intentionally harnessing this psychoactive potential comes from a remarkable discovery at the Yanghai Tombs in China's Gobi Desert. In the 2,700-year-old grave of a shaman, archaeologists unearthed a leather basket and a wooden bowl containing nearly a kilogram of cannabis. Chemical analysis revealed it was a potent, cultivated variety with high levels of THC, clearly intended not for fiber or food, but for ritualistic or medicinal purposes. This was not wild-gathered weed; it was the product of careful selection and agriculture, proof that our ancestors were already breeding the plant for its mind-altering properties thousands of years ago.

From its Central Asian cradle, cannabis embarked on a global journey, its seeds and knowledge carried along the nascent trade routes that would one day connect the world. It traveled not as a single entity, but as a versatile toolkit, its various attributes embraced and adapted by diverse cultures.

Traveling south into the Indian subcontinent, cannabis found fertile spiritual ground. The ancient Hindu texts, the Vedas, compiled around 1500 BCE, refer to it as one of the five sacred plants, a “source of happiness” and a “liberator.” In India, it was transformed into bhang, a milky, spiced beverage integrated into religious festivals and rituals, most famously associated with the god Shiva, the Lord of Bhang, who is said to have used it to focus his meditation. Here, cannabis was not merely a substance, but a conduit to the divine, a respected and integrated part of the cultural fabric. Westward, along what would become the Silk Road, its psychoactive form was adopted by the Scythians, nomadic warriors who roamed the Eurasian steppes. The Greek historian Herodotus, writing in the 5th century BCE, described their elaborate funeral rites, where they would erect small tents and throw cannabis onto red-hot stones, inhaling the thick, intoxicating vapor in a communal act of ritual purification and grief. Further west, in the Middle East, the plant’s potent resin was refined into a concentrated form known as Hashish. It permeated Arabic culture, appearing in folk tales like One Thousand and One Nights and becoming associated, perhaps apocryphally, with the esoteric Order of Assassins, whose leader allegedly used it to give his followers a foretaste of paradise.

While its psychoactive properties captivated mystics and shamans, the plant’s other identity—as industrial Hemp—was quietly building and connecting empires. As civilizations took to the seas, they were carried by the strength of cannabis. The plant's long, robust fibers were the premier material for manufacturing Rope, rigging, and canvas sails. It was strong, durable, and resistant to saltwater decay. The naval supremacy of the Roman Empire, the voyages of the Vikings, and later, the globe-spanning fleets of the Age of Discovery were all profoundly dependent on hemp. A single large warship required over 50 tons of hemp rope and sails, which had to be replaced every few years. This created an immense and constant demand. Empires rose and fell on their access to it. King Henry VIII of England mandated its cultivation in 1533 to supply his Royal Navy. Two centuries later, Hemp was a strategic commodity of such importance that it was considered a vital instrument of national security. Furthermore, cannabis played a pivotal role in the revolution of knowledge. Until the 19th century, hemp was a primary source material for making Paper. It was more durable and cheaper to produce than parchment. Many of the world’s most important documents, from legal statutes to philosophical treatises, were recorded on hemp paper. Johannes Gutenberg’s first printed Bibles used it, and early drafts of the American Declaration of Independence were penned on sheets made from the very same plant that powered the ships bringing colonists to the New World.

When European colonists crossed the Atlantic, they brought cannabis with them, not for recreation, but as a critical agricultural commodity. The Spanish introduced it to their South American colonies in the mid-16th century, and the English brought it to Jamestown and Plymouth. In the nascent American colonies, Hemp was so essential for the British Empire’s maritime dominance that its cultivation was, at times, legally mandated. Farmers in Virginia, Massachusetts, and Connecticut were ordered by their colonial governments to grow it. Founding Fathers like George Washington and Thomas Jefferson were enthusiastic hemp farmers, meticulously recording its cultivation in their diaries and championing it as a versatile and profitable crop for the new nation. In this context, cannabis was a symbol of industry, patriotism, and economic independence. The psychoactive identity of the plant, however, was largely absent from the colonial American experience. It was reintroduced to the Western consciousness primarily through the very mechanisms of empire and migration. When Napoleon's troops invaded Egypt in 1798, they encountered the widespread local custom of consuming Hashish. Though Napoleon banned its use among his soldiers, they brought knowledge and samples of it back to France, where it sparked the interest of Parisian literary circles. Writers like Alexandre Dumas and Victor Hugo formed the infamous Club des Hashischins to explore its exotic and mind-expanding effects. A far more consequential reintroduction occurred a century later in the United States. Following the Mexican Revolution of 1910, a wave of immigrants crossed the border into the American Southwest, bringing with them the cultural practice of smoking the plant's dried flowers for leisure and relaxation. They called it marihuana. This cultural collision, set against a backdrop of economic anxiety and racial prejudice, planted the seeds for the plant’s dramatic fall from grace.

At the turn of the 20th century, cannabis was a common ingredient in medicinal tinctures sold openly in American pharmacies and a globally vital industrial crop. Within four decades, it would be transformed into “Public Enemy No. 1.” This was not the result of a sudden scientific discovery of its dangers, but a perfect storm of social, economic, and political forces. The campaign against cannabis was masterfully orchestrated, tapping into the era’s deepest anxieties. A key figure was Harry J. Anslinger, the ambitious head of the newly formed Federal Bureau of Narcotics. Seeking to expand his agency’s power and budget, Anslinger launched a public relations crusade, strategically replacing the familiar terms “cannabis” and “hemp” with the foreign-sounding “marijuana.” This linguistic shift was crucial, as it allowed him to link the plant directly to anti-Mexican sentiment and xenophobia. Anslinger’s narrative was amplified by powerful corporate interests. The newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst, who had vast holdings in the timber industry, used his media empire to print sensationalist, often fabricated stories about marijuana-crazed minorities committing heinous crimes. This “yellow journalism” stoked a moral panic. At the same time, emerging industries saw Hemp as a threat. The DuPont company was developing synthetic fibers like nylon, which would have to compete with cheap, versatile hemp fiber. New technologies for processing wood pulp also threatened hemp’s role in the Paper industry. For these powerful players, demonizing the entire cannabis plant was a convenient way to eliminate a competitor. The culmination of this campaign was the Marihuana Tax Act of 1937. While technically a tax law, its labyrinthine regulations made compliance virtually impossible, effectively criminalizing the possession and transfer of cannabis across the United States. Anslinger then took his crusade to the world stage, using American influence to push for global prohibition. This effort succeeded with the 1961 United Nations Single Convention on Narcotic Drugs, which placed cannabis in the most restrictive category, Schedule IV, alongside heroin, declaring it a drug with a high potential for abuse and no therapeutic value. The plant that had built empires was now an international outlaw.

The very act of prohibition gave cannabis a new identity. Stripped of its industrial and medicinal legitimacy, it became a potent symbol of rebellion. In the 1950s, it was embraced by the artists and writers of the Beat Generation. But it was in the tumultuous 1960s that its use exploded, becoming the sacramental herb of the counterculture. For a generation questioning the Vietnam War, segregation, and the values of the establishment, smoking cannabis was an act of cultural and political dissent. It was a conscious rejection of the very system that had outlawed it. This open defiance triggered a fierce political backlash. In 1971, President Richard Nixon declared a “War on Drugs,” calling drug abuse “public enemy number one.” This was more than just a policy; it was a declaration of war on the counterculture itself. Nixon’s own National Commission on Marihuana and Drug Abuse (the Shafer Commission) concluded in 1972 that marijuana was relatively harmless and recommended decriminalizing personal use. Nixon buried the report. Instead, his administration pushed through the Controlled Substances Act of 1970. This law established a new scheduling system for drugs and, in a decision that would shape the next half-century, placed cannabis in Schedule I. This classification defined it as a substance with “no currently accepted medical use and a high potential for abuse,” a definition directly at odds with millennia of human history. This legal status not only fueled an era of mass incarceration that disproportionately targeted communities of color but also erected formidable barriers to scientific research, effectively freezing medical inquiry for decades.

For much of the late 20th century, the official narrative held firm. But beneath the surface, the seeds of another transformation were germinating, this time in the quiet of the laboratory and the desperation of the sick.

The first major crack in the wall of ignorance appeared in 1964. In Israel, a young chemist named Dr. Raphael Mechoulam became the first person to isolate and synthesize THC, the plant’s main psychoactive component. This landmark achievement opened the door to understanding how cannabis affects the human body. The next breakthrough was even more profound. In the late 1980s, researchers discovered that the human brain is filled with specific receptors that bind to cannabinoids like THC. Why would the body have locks for which only the cannabis plant held the key? The answer came shortly after with the discovery of the endocannabinoid system—an ancient, internal signaling network that helps regulate fundamental functions like mood, appetite, pain, and memory. The human body, it turned out, produces its own cannabis-like molecules. This discovery was revolutionary. It suggested that our relationship with the cannabis plant was not an evolutionary accident but a deep, biological resonance. It provided a powerful scientific rationale for the plant's long history of medicinal use.

The push for change, however, came not from the top down, but from the grassroots up. The devastating AIDS epidemic of the 1980s became an unexpected catalyst. As patients suffered from wasting syndrome, nausea, and chronic pain, many discovered that smoking cannabis was one of the few things that brought them relief. A powerful movement for compassionate access was born. In 1996, California voters passed Proposition 215, making it the first state to legalize cannabis for medical use, in direct defiance of federal law. This single act opened the floodgates. Over the next two decades, dozens of states followed suit. Public opinion, once shaped by “Reefer Madness,” began to shift dramatically. The culmination of this trend occurred in 2012, when voters in Colorado and Washington chose to legalize cannabis for recreational use by adults. A new era had begun: the “Green Rush.” This has unleashed a multi-billion dollar legal industry, creating new economic opportunities but also a dizzying array of social and legal challenges regarding taxation, public health, and social equity. Today, the cannabis plant stands at a remarkable crossroads. The very molecules once condemned are now being patented for medical treatments. The Hemp industry, annihilated by prohibition, is being reborn as a source for everything from sustainable building materials to CBD wellness products. The Green Phoenix, after a century of being branded a demon, is rising from the ashes of its own prohibition. Its journey—from ancient companion to industrial engine, from vilified drug to modern medicine—is a powerful reflection of our own evolving understanding of nature, culture, and ourselves. Its final chapter has yet to be written.