Alcohol Math Isn’t Cannabis Science

_{Filed Under: Prohibition Science}

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You don’t get to turn cannabis into alcohol by forcing it through a spreadsheet.
Calling that science does not make it true.

A recent article published by Deutsche Welle claims researchers can now define how much cannabis is “too much” by borrowing a measurement framework modeled after alcohol risk categories. Weekly limits. Risk categories. Consumption thresholds are meant to operate like drink counts. The logic is designed to feel comforting. If cannabis can be quantified the way alcohol is, it can be managed the same way. If it can be managed, it can be regulated cleanly. If it can be regulated cleanly, enforcement becomes easier.

That framing is being sold as progress. It is not.

What’s being presented as new thinking is an old instinct resurfacing with better graphics. Prohibition dressed up as research has always relied on the same move. Translate a complicated human behavior into tidy numbers, label those numbers “health guidance,” then let policy do the rest. This version simply swaps out scare headlines for charts.

Numbers feel safe to governments because numbers promise control. Weekly caps, risk tiers, and standardized “units” suggest that biology behaves predictably enough to justify universal rules. That fantasy is why alcohol math keeps getting dragged into cannabis policy discussions. It converts a messy reality into language that courts, insurers, and regulators know how to use.

The framework collapses immediately because cannabis is not alcohol, and it cannot be treated like alcohol without misrepresenting what it actually is.

Alcohol is a single psychoactive compound with a relatively stable pharmacokinetic profile across populations. Cannabis is a plant containing multiple active compounds interacting with an endocannabinoid system that differs dramatically from one person to the next. That variability is not a footnote. It is the core mechanism. Strip it away, and the analysis stops describing cannabis at all.

The route of administration alone destroys any attempt at a universal threshold. Combustion and vaporization produce different byproducts and different absorption curves. Edibles follow a delayed metabolic pathway and can last hours longer than inhaled use. Tinctures, capsules, beverages, and concentrates all enter the body through different systems, reaching different peaks and producing different subjective intensities. A milligram on paper does not translate into a consistent outcome across these routes.

Metabolism finishes the job. Enzyme expression varies. Body composition changes absorption. Hormonal shifts alter sensitivity. Genetics shape response. Prior exposure reshapes tolerance without requiring a corresponding change in blood concentration. Two people can consume the same amount and experience entirely different effects, not because one is exaggerating, but because biology refuses to behave like a rulebook.

None of this is fringe science. This is the baseline any serious cannabinoid discussion begins with. Yet the Deutsche Welle article treats the alcohol comparison as if it represents a conceptual breakthrough rather than a recycled shortcut.

The framing becomes more dangerous when consumption quietly replaces diagnosis. Weekly intake is presented as a meaningful proxy for harm. That is not how cannabis use disorder is diagnosed in clinical practice. Psychiatry does not grade disorders by counting grams.

Cannabis use disorder is defined by behavior and impairment. Loss of control. Disruption to work, relationships, or health. Continued use despite clear negative consequences. Quantity alone does not establish pathology. Heavy use can exist without disorder. Low use can still be maladaptive. Erasing that distinction creates a policy that punishes usage rather than addressing harm.

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Cannabinoid Hyperemesis Syndrome is then introduced as supporting evidence without addressing how the diagnosis is commonly applied. CHS is meant to be a diagnosis of exclusion. That requires ruling out other causes first.

In many emergency departments, that process does not happen. Cannabis products are rarely tested. No pesticide screening. No heavy metal analysis. No solvent checks. No confirmation of synthetic cannabinoid exposure. No verification of what the patient actually consumed. If vomiting appears and cannabis use is admitted, CHS is frequently reported as being applied without comprehensive product testing, and the investigation ends. The system prioritizes speed over accuracy.

When contamination is never examined, it is never eliminated as a cause. That turns CHS into a convenient catchall, one that shields institutions from confronting dirty supply chains, unregulated markets, and the collateral damage created by prohibition itself. The article never addresses this gap because it disrupts the narrative.

The word “risk” gets deployed without specificity. Impairment. Dependence. Emergency care. Long-term harm. These are distinct outcomes with different mechanisms. Alcohol research often collapses them because alcohol reliably damages multiple organ systems and produces predictable population-level harm.

Cannabis does not behave that way.

Large population studies consistently show that most cannabis users do not develop dependence, most do not require medical intervention, and many reduce or discontinue heavy use without treatment (National Institute on Drug Abuse, National Academies of Sciences). These patterns do not fit the alcohol template, which is precisely why the template keeps getting imported. It allows cannabis to be discussed as if it were a proven societal poison rather than a substance with a more complex and individualized risk profile.

The motivation behind this framing is transparent. Governments want numbers because numbers become guidelines. Guidelines become policies. Policies become enforcement tools. This is how drug war control evolves once overt criminalization loses public support.

We have already seen what happens when numbers replace judgment. Per se, THC driving limits were adopted despite evidence that blood THC concentration does not reliably correlate with impairment. Legislatures passed them anyway because numerical thresholds are easier to defend than contextual assessment. People who were not impaired paid the price.

Now the same impulse seeks a weekly ceiling, a tidy line separating “responsible” users from suspect ones. Once established, that line will harden into administrative truth. Employers will invoke it. Insurers will cite it. Courts will rely on it. Regulators will enforce it. The consequences will land on users, not policymakers.

None of this denies that cannabis carries risk. It rejects a dishonest framework that converts uncertainty into authority. Harm reduction depends on precision and humility, not alcohol math retrofitted onto a plant that refuses to cooperate.

Cannabis is complex. The culture has always known this. The science knows it too, when it is not being bent to serve policy convenience.

What Deutsche Welle framed as a breakthrough was not an advancement. It was an old reflex wearing a lab coat and pretending inevitability.

Fuck off.

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