The Expositor's Bible: The Book of Daniel — Story, Setting & Ideas

Wordplay and the Writing on the Wall

Farrar devotes sustained attention to the famous scene in Daniel 5, where a disembodied hand inscribes mysterious words on the palace wall. He notes that the Chaldean wise men could not even read the script, let alone interpret it. The rabbinic tradition, he reports, held that the words were written kionēdon, or pillar-wise, from top to bottom, making them appear as gibberish when read left to right. Farrar then unpacks the pun: the Aramaic words for weights—m'nah (mina), t'qilta (shekel), peres (half-mina)—also yield the verbs 'numbered,' 'weighed,' and 'divided.' This double meaning, he argues, is the secret that Daniel alone could unlock. The passage illustrates Farrar's method of combining philological detail with narrative analysis, showing how a single textual crux can reveal layers of meaning.

The Problem of Darius the Mede

Farrar confronts head-on the historical puzzle of 'Darius the Mede,' a figure who appears in Daniel but is unknown outside the book. He systematically reviews proposed identifications—Cyaxares II, Astyages, the satrap Gobryas—and finds each wanting. The Cyropædia of Xenophon, he notes, is a romance, not history; Astyages would have been far older than sixty-two; and Gobryas was a governor, not an absolute monarch issuing decrees to all peoples. Farrar concludes that Darius the Mede likely originated from a literal reading of Isaiah and Jeremiah, rather than from any actual ruler. This section exemplifies his willingness to set aside apologetic harmonization in favor of critical analysis, treating the figure as a literary construct serving the book's theological message.

Swift Conclusions and Parabolic Structure

Farrar observes that the Belshazzar narrative is 'very swiftly brought to a conclusion' once the writing is interpreted. The king is slain that same night, and Darius takes the kingdom. This rapid denouement, he suggests, is deliberate: the story's essence has already been given in the wordplay and its interpretation. Farrar reads the episode as a 'moral and spiritual parable,' not a historical report. He draws attention to the irony in Belshazzar's name—'Bel, preserve the king!'—and notes that Bel and Nebo gave no help. The swift, almost formulaic ending, with its quotation of a poetic lament, reinforces the parabolic quality. Farrar's commentary thus treats narrative pacing as a clue to the book's genre and purpose.

Language, Unity, and Standpoint

In his introduction, Farrar surveys the book's language, unity, style, and standpoint. He notes that Daniel is written partly in Hebrew and partly in Aramaic, a feature that has long puzzled commentators. He addresses the question of unity—whether the book is the work of a single author or a composite—and leans toward the latter view, though he does not fully resolve the issue. His discussion of style emphasizes the book's 'general tone' and its standpoint, which he locates in the Maccabean period rather than the Babylonian exile. This critical orientation shapes his entire commentary: he reads Daniel as a product of its time, addressing the needs of a later generation through stories set in an earlier era. The introduction thus provides the framework for the detailed analyses that follow.

Farrar's commentary rewards readers who appreciate philological precision and historical skepticism. He does not shy from identifying contradictions or anachronisms, yet he treats the text with respect as a work of religious literature. Those approaching Daniel as prophecy will find Farrar's conclusions challenging; those interested in the book's composition and reception history will find a model of late-Victorian critical scholarship.

I remember sitting with Farrar’s Daniel, struck by how a story could feel both ancient and immediate—the writing on the wall as a quiet reckoning. That same hush came over me years later, reading the epistles, where judgment softens into invitation. Expositions of Holy Scripture Ephesians; Epistles of St. Peter and St. John — A Closer Reading held that same weight, like light through a stained window.