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Noah Got Drunk and Philo Refused to Call It a Failure

After the flood Noah planted a vineyard, drank wine, and became drunk. Most traditions see failure in it. Philo of Alexandria read the same verse and disagreed.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. After the Flood, a Vineyard
  2. The Distinction That Changes Everything
  3. Two States the Word Describes
  4. What Ham Saw and What It Cost Him

After the Flood, a Vineyard

The ark came to rest. The water withdrew. The dove returned. Noah stepped onto dry ground, built an altar, and received from God the covenant of the rainbow. Then, according to Genesis chapter 9, he planted a vineyard. He drank the wine. He became drunk. His son Ham found him uncovered in his tent.

The morning after changed everything between Ham and his father, between Canaan and his uncles, between the lines of descent from Noah's three sons. A man who had walked with God and survived the destruction of the world stumbled in his tent the first chance he had.

Every reading of this passage, from antiquity forward, has to decide what to do with it. Most treat it as a moral failure, the first sin of the post-flood world, a cautionary note appended to the story of Noah's righteousness so that his righteousness would not be idealized too completely.

Philo of Alexandria, writing in the first century CE, declined to read it that way.

The Distinction That Changes Everything

The text attributed to Philo in the midrashic tradition opens with a careful reading of the Hebrew. Noah did not drink all the wine. The text says he drank. It does not say he drank without limit or that he consumed the entire cask. The person who drinks in the manner of the genuinely debauched consumes until nothing is left, driven by excess, needing to empty the vessel to satisfy the need. Noah drank. He stopped.

This is not the behavior of someone who failed. It is the behavior of someone who understood what wine was for and used it correctly, meaning up to the point of use and no further. The fact that he became drunk is not, in Philo's reading, a sign that he drank too much. It is a sign that he drank exactly the amount that produced the effect wine is designed to produce.

Two States the Word Describes

Philo then presses further into the word drunk itself. He argues that the word in Greek and Hebrew can describe two entirely different states that look identical from the outside but have opposite causes. One kind of drunkenness comes from too much wine and produces stupidity, loss of control, shame. The other kind comes from a soul so full of divine wisdom and joy that it overflows into the same external signs: loosened inhibitions, uncovered sleep, complete rest.

The prophets described themselves as drunk on the spirit. Mystics described union with the divine as intoxication. The incapacity they reported was not stupidity but the incapacity of someone so saturated with something real that ordinary bodily discipline became unnecessary. Noah's drunkenness, in Philo's reading, was this second kind.

He had just survived the destruction and rebuilding of the world. He had served as the vessel of continuity for all life. He had held the weight of that for a year. When he sat in his tent and drank his wine and let his body relax completely, what looked like failure was release. The man who had been required to be upright through the flood was finally permitted to lie down.

What Ham Saw and What It Cost Him

The tradition is careful about Ham's action. He saw his father. He went and told his brothers. He made the uncovering a fact that other people knew about. Shem and Japheth walked in backward, looking away, and covered their father without seeing what they were covering.

The contrast in the tradition is not between shameful exposure and modest concealment but between two postures toward the uncovered dignity of a parent: the posture that looks, reports, and makes the vulnerability public, and the posture that does not look, does not report, and covers without needing to understand what it is covering.

Ham's failure was not that he witnessed his father in a compromised state. It was that he turned a private and vulnerable moment into news. Whatever Noah was experiencing in that tent, whether physical intoxication or spiritual saturation, he had not chosen to share it with anyone. Ham made that choice for him.

The curse that followed was proportionate to the action. Ham had made his father's uncovering into something public, so the consequence settled on Ham's son Canaan, into the public future of nations and territories and the relationships between peoples that would be visible for generations. The private moment became permanently historical because Ham had forced it to be.

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From the tradition

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

The Midrash of Philo 21:2The Midrash of Philo

The familiar story centers on the Ark, but what happened after the flood?

That Noah planted a vineyard and "drank of the wine, and was drunken" (Genesis 9:21). A simple statement. But the rabbis of old, ever eager to find layers of meaning, weren't so sure. Was Noah simply indulging, or was something more profound happening?

The Midrash of Philo grapples with this very question. The text makes a key distinction: Noah, a "just man," didn't drink all the wine, but only a portion. Isn’t that something we should all strive for?

A debauched man, the text argues, won't stop until the bottle (or cask!) is empty. He’s driven by excess. But the religious and sober person? They use what's necessary in moderation.

But here's the kicker: The Midrash of Philo suggests that even the word "drunken" needs a second look.

There are, it says, two ways to be "drunken." One is the "intemperate sottishness" of the wicked, misusing wine and losing control. The other is simply "the use of wine," and this belongs to the wise. According to this interpretation, Noah wasn’t wallowing in drunken abandon. Instead, he used wine wisely; as a part of life.

So, when the Torah says Noah "was drunken," it's not necessarily a condemnation. It's an observation that he used wine.

It's a subtle but important distinction, isn't it? It's not about abstinence; it's about intention and moderation. It’s about using something powerful, like wine, with awareness and respect. It pushes us to think: how do we use the good things in our lives? Are we controlled by them, or do we control them?

Perhaps Noah's post-flood experience isn't just a cautionary tale about the dangers of alcohol. Maybe it's a lesson about how we approach pleasure, responsibility, and the delicate balance between enjoying the world and being consumed by it.

What do you think?

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Book of Jubilees 6:4Book of Jubilees

After all that devastation, how did Noah make things right again, not just with God, but with the very earth itself?

Well, the Book of Jubilees, a fascinating ancient Jewish text, gives us a peek into that crucial moment. It's considered apocryphal, meaning it's not included in the standard Hebrew Bible, but it offers a rich expansion of the biblical narrative, particularly the book of Genesis. It’s a window into how ancient Jewish communities understood their history and their relationship with the divine.

The floodwaters have receded. Noah, his family, and all the animals emerge from the ark into a world utterly transformed. The air is probably heavy with the smell of wet earth and decaying things. What’s the first thing Noah does? He makes atonement.

The verse reads, "And he made atonement for the earth, and took a kid and made atonement by its blood for all the guilt of the earth; for everything that had been on it had been destroyed, save those that were in the ark with Noah."

This is powerful stuff. Noah isn't just offering a sacrifice to appease God. He's actively seeking atonement – kapparah in Hebrew – for the earth itself. He recognizes that the land bears the weight of all that has transpired, all the violence and corruption that led to the flood in the first place. It's as if the earth, too, needs cleansing, a fresh start.

The specifics of the sacrifice are laid out: "And he placed the fat thereof on the altar, and he took an ox, and a goat, and a sheep and kids, and salt, and a turtle-dove, and the young of a dove, and placed a burnt sacrifice on the altar, and poured thereon an offering mingled with oil, and sprinkled wine and strewed frankincense over everything, and caused a goodly savour to arise, acceptable before the Lord."

Think about the sensory details here. The smell of the burning offering, the rich aroma of frankincense, the pouring of oil and wine. It’s a multi-sensory experience, a ritual designed to engage all the senses and create a powerful connection with the divine. The phrase "a goodly savour" is particularly interesting. It suggests that the offering isn't just about fulfilling a requirement, but about creating something pleasing and harmonious in God's eyes.

Why these particular animals? Why these specific offerings? The Book of Jubilees doesn't explicitly say. But we can infer that each element likely held symbolic significance, representing different aspects of creation and offering a holistic atonement. The inclusion of salt might represent preservation and the covenant, while the oil symbolizes anointing and divine blessing.

The act of atonement wasn't just a one-time event. It was a foundational act, setting the stage for the repopulation of the earth and the renewal of the covenant between God and humanity. It's a reminder that even after the most devastating events, there's always the possibility of renewal, of forgiveness, and of a fresh start. And it all begins with recognizing the need for atonement, for making things right, not just with the divine, but with the world around us.

What does it mean for us today? How can we, in our own lives, seek atonement for the "guilt of the earth"? Perhaps it's a call to be more mindful of our impact on the environment, to strive for greater justice and compassion, and to work towards healing the wounds of the past. Just as Noah did, we can all play a part in creating a "goodly savour" – a world that is more pleasing and harmonious in the eyes of the divine.

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