Daniel 10 as a Window onto the Ancient Jewish Apocalyptic Literature

Abstract

This article examines Daniel 10 as a key witness to the formation of early Jewish apocalyptic literature. The chapter portrays Daniel as a sage whose encounter with a celestial messenger prepares him to guide his community. Narratively, this scene introduces the final revelation of Daniel 11–12; ideologically, it expresses the authors’ conviction that access to the heavenly realm is achieved through scribal discipline and engagement with inherited traditions. The study advances two related contributions. Drawing on recent reassessments of apocalyptic origins—especially insights from Aramaic texts at Qumran—the study offers a new analysis of intertextuality in Daniel 10, highlighting how apocalyptic writing predates the persecutions of Antiochus IV and is developed through the reinterpretation of authoritative Scriptures in the Persian and Hellenistic periods. Daniel’s profile aligns with elite temple-based scribes who operated across imperial and cultic settings and used apocalyptic discourse in intra-Judean power struggles. In addition, the reference to the Tigris in Dan 10:4 is reinterpreted in light of Seleucia-on-Tigris, whose culturally hybrid environment illuminates the cosmopolitan backdrop of the maśkîlîm traditions.

1. Introduction

This article examines Daniel 10 by outlining its major ideological and literary features and showing how it illuminates the development of early Jewish apocalyptic literature. As the protagonist encounters the celestial messenger, he is prepared to serve as a guide for his nation; this experience functions narratively by setting the stage for the final revelation and ideologically by expressing the authors’ conviction that access to the heavenly world is mediated through scribal activity. Particular attention is also devoted to Seleucia-on-Tigris, proposed here as a possible identification for the location referred to in Dan 10:4. Ultimately, I argue that Daniel 10 encodes a scribal self-portrait, situating the maśkîlîm within a cosmopolitan Seleucid setting and presenting apocalyptic revelation as the culmination of scribal exegesis. In doing so, the article advances two original contributions. First, it offers a new analysis of the intertextual dynamics of Daniel 10, interpreting its dense network of scriptural allusions as a deliberate strategy of ideological positioning rather than as a collection of inherited motifs. Second, it proposes a new explanation of the reference to the river Tigris (Dan 10:4), reading it as an allusion to Seleucia-on-the-Tigris and thereby situating the vision within a concrete Seleucid-era historical landscape.

In recent decades, scholarship on apocalyptic literature has been marked by significant redefinition. Following the foundational proposal of Semeia 14 (1979)—now supplemented by subsequent refinements—researchers have usually identified apocalypses as texts that share not only literary forms but also distinctive ideological, cultural, and social features. Emphasizing the extent to which apocalypses rely on authoritative Jewish traditions to articulate their views of the otherworld and of history, scholars now regard their fundamentally “paratextual” character as essential to understanding the genre (Lange 2023). Within early Jewish literature, this corpus includes 1 Enoch, Daniel 7–12, 4 Ezra, 2 Baruch, the Apocalypse of Abraham, 3 Baruch, 2 Enoch, Testament of Levi 2–5, the Apocalypse of Zephaniah, portions of Jubilees and the Testament of Abraham, together with several apocalyptic compositions newly recognized among the Dead Sea Scrolls, such as the pseudo-Daniel texts, the Aramaic “Son of God” text, the Apocryphon of Jeremiah, pseudo-Ezekiel, the Book of Giants, the Aramaic Four Kingdoms text, and the New Jerusalem text. Within this constellation, scholars often identify a set of “prototype” texts, while simultaneously acknowledging that the contours of the apocalyptic corpus remain diffuse and porous (Collins 2014; Wassen and Crawford 2018).

Research on the Dead Sea Scrolls has proved decisive in advancing the understanding of early Jewish apocalyptic literature. The discovery of Aramaic manuscripts of 1 Enoch, dated to the 2nd century—and in some cases even to the late 3rd century BCE—has demonstrated that the origins of apocalyptic writing clearly predate the persecutions of Antiochus IV between 167 and 164 BCE (see Nickelsburg 2001; Honigman 2021b). Rather than constituting the birthplace of the genre, this period is now understood as a stage in which earlier apocalyptic traditions were received, adapted, and intensified. Apocalyptic literature can therefore no longer be explained solely as resistance literature. On the one hand, by deploying vaticinia ex eventu, apocalyptic works reactivated prophetic paradigms for contemporary events, fostering nonviolent resolve that could ultimately lead to martyrdom. On the other hand, they embodied a wider hermeneutical innovation—a scribal attempt to reinterpret inherited traditions in response to the cultural, intellectual, and religious pressures of the Hellenistic world (Honigman 2021b). As is the case with many works preserved among the Dead Sea Scrolls, apocalyptic literature emerged in a context in which authoritative texts were not fixed artifacts but dynamic traditions that continued to develop into—and even beyond—the Hellenistic period. Processes of ongoing interpretation, adaptation to new political and cultural circumstances, and the coexistence of multiple versions of the same work testify both to their vitality and to the persistence of a recognizable textual identity (Najman 2025).

The Aramaic revelatory–visionary compositions from Qumran have likewise played a decisive role in reassessing the origins of apocalyptic literature within early Judaism and in highlighting the centrality of the Aramaic language. With its archaizing potential, Aramaic enabled scribes to anchor their innovations in the prestige of ancient Mesopotamian knowledge (DiTommaso and Goff 2023) and to sustain modes of cultural negotiation and collaboration that had long characterized Judean life under empire (Portier-Young 2010).

Behind these writings stand scholarly scribes who offered themselves as moral guides to communities living under foreign rule (Perrin 2023). In Machiela’s reconstruction (Machiela 2019, pp. 171–73), these figures can be identified with a small circle of elite, temple-based priests active in Judah during the 4th to mid-2nd centuries BCE, especially in Jerusalem, where the temple served simultaneously as cultic center, national treasury, administrative hub, archive, and scribal school. These priests belonged to the upper echelons of Judean society and operated in proximity to the high priest and to provincial governors. Although geographically rooted in Jerusalem and its hinterland, their literary production was oriented toward a pan-Israelite readership dispersed across Palestine and the diaspora—from Samaria, Idumea, and the Galilee to Egypt (Elephantine) and Mesopotamia (Al-Yahudu, Borsippa, Nippur)—a distribution that itself explains the choice of Aramaic.

As Honigman (2021a) has emphasized, early Hellenistic Judea did not possess two discrete scribal corps—“temple scribes” and “royal/administrative scribes”—each with distinctive degrees of Hellenization and separate literary outputs. Rather, the relationship between the Jerusalem temple and successive imperial administrations (Persian, Ptolemaic, Seleucid) shifted repeatedly. Because the literate elite underwent comparable education, they formed a single, mobile scribal class capable of moving between temple service and royal administration. Their careers were shaped less by institutional boundaries than by fluctuating political configurations and by the changing authority of the high priest. Consequently, the Judean literature of the 3rd–2nd centuries BCE—including prophetic expansions, sapiential works, and apocalyptic compositions—reflects the shared cultural capital and overlapping networks of elites who navigated both temple and imperial settings.

Finally, as Keddie (2018) has argued, apocalyptic texts function as instruments of ideological mobilization. They expose the ideologies of rival elites and construct new class dispositions that legitimate alternative leadership. Crucially, in the Persian–Hellenistic eras, apocalyptic ideology operated as a rhetorical strategy within intra-Judean power struggles. Scribal authors used heavenly visions to delegitimize competing ruling groups—priestly factions, aristocracies, and later Hasmonean rulers—to portray themselves as the oppressed “righteous” despite their own elite status, and to shape class identities through moralized and cosmic narratives.

2. Daniel 10 Within the Book

The first part of the book of Daniel (chaps. 1–6) consists of court narratives depicting the life of the protagonist. Daniel appears as an exile, deported during the reign of Nebuchadnezzar and subsequently educated at the Babylonian court. He enters royal service and assists the king by interpreting enigmatic dreams. Daniel bears the name of a mythic sage of the caliber of Noah and Job (Ezek 14:14, 20), portrayed as one capable of penetrating hidden realities (Ezek 28:3). At the same time, his name strikingly reappears among those of leaders, Levites, and priests mentioned in postexilic writings (Ezra 8:2; Neh 10:7), as do the names of his fellow exiles Ananiah and Azariah (e.g., Ezra 7:1; Neh 7:2; 1 Chr 5:34–35; 2 Chr 15:1). This convergence between legendary wisdom and postexilic onomastics suggests that scribes active during the period of Second Temple defilement identified with a learned colleague from the age of Nebuchadnezzar. In line with the widespread practice of pseudonymity in the Hellenistic age, the wisdom tradition associated with Daniel’s name enabled them to advance new teachings while situating their message within a continuous sacred tradition (Collins 2016, pp. 48–50).

The second part of the book (chaps. 7–12) presents Daniel’s own visions, commonly classified as “apocalyptic.” These visions take the form of vaticinia ex eventu: they “predict” events already known to the author. Their content provides a sweeping interpretation of history. Though history seems governed by ruthless kings and perpetual conflict, it ultimately unfolds under the sovereignty of God, the supreme ruler. The seer reports what he has witnessed and heard in heaven, where he has been taught what is destined to occur and has learned to perceive history together with its metahistorical dimension.

In the second half of the book, Daniel experiences two visions. In the first, he sees four hybrid animals: a lion with eagle’s wings that is set on two feet like a human; a bear; a leopard with four wings and four heads; and a terrifying fourth beast of extraordinary power, with great iron teeth and ten horns (Dan 7). In the second, less imaginative vision, he sees a ram symbolizing the king of the Medes and Persians, and a goat with a very long horn symbolizing Alexander the Great (Dan 8). In chapter 9, the bewildered seer tries to understand what he has seen and therefore devotes himself to studying a prophecy of Jeremiah. In chapter 10, presently analysed, Daniel encounters a heavenly being who announces in detail what will happen (chaps. 10–12). The divine revelation is now communicated in a long speech, rather than through iconic enigmatic scenes. The apocalypse of Daniel presents wisdom as something disclosed progressively rather than all at once, through a patterned repetition of dreams, visions, and interpretations that restate the same core content in increasingly concrete and historical terms. The three key scenes introduced in Daniel 7—the hybrid beasts, the divine court of judgment, and the man-like figure receiving dominion—are repeatedly reinterpreted and expanded in chapters 7–12. Over time, symbolic imagery gives way to identifiable historical referents: the beasts become empires, the ram and goat represent the Persian and Greek kingdoms, and the conflicts culminate in the persecutions under Antiochus IV. Chronological details grow more precise, and the duration of oppression is carefully delimited. In parallel, the setting of revelation shifts from dreamlike, otherworldly visions to increasingly ordinary and datable circumstances, underscoring how apocalyptic insight moves steadily closer to historical reality while maintaining its transcendent and cosmic perspective (Gzella 2003).

3. Power Lost, Power Given: Exegetical Observations on Daniel 10

Daniel 10 opens by situating the narrative in the third year of Cyrus (v. 1). Daniel then recounts in the first person what befell him after three weeks of penance and fasting, when he was standing by the Tigris River (vv. 2–4). In three successive moments, he describes what he saw, what he heard, and how he responded.

Commentators have emphasized that the epiphany experienced by the protagonist is articulated through frequent allusions to prophetic texts such as Isa 6, Jer 1, and Ezek 1 and 8–10, thereby linking the words Daniel is about to receive with older prophetic traditions (e.g., Plöger 1965, p. 149; Collins 1993, p. 402). As suggested in Dan 10:1, Daniel comes to understand the meaning of a divine oracle only at the moment when he is granted a vision (Montgomery 1927, p. 405). Just as Dan 9 portrays Daniel reflecting on the fulfillment of words spoken by Jeremiah, he is now implicitly expected to ponder the implications of Isaiah 40, which proclaims the end of Jerusalem’s servitude (Lacocque 1976, p. 152).

Read in conjunction with Dan 11:1–12:4, Dan 10 has therefore been interpreted as a form of situational midrash: the apparent meaninglessness of contemporary history is addressed by juxtaposing it with another problem, namely the seeming nonfulfillment of ancient prophecy. Both tensions are resolved by being interpreted alongside one another (Goldingay 1989, pp. 284–85). In language shared with texts such as 4QInstruction, Daniel is granted access to “the deep reality of things,” a notion signaled by the use of ’ĕmet in Dan 10:1, understood as “truth as opposed to appearance” (Newsom 2014, p. 329). While multiple intertextual connections have been proposed—’ĕmet has also been plausibly linked to Ps 145:18 (Plöger 1965, p. 147; Oparah 2025)—the modalities and implications of these scriptural resonances merit further investigation.

Although King Cyrus permitted the exiles to return to Jerusalem (2 Chr 36:22–23; Ezra 1:1–2), the rebuilding of the Temple soon came to a standstill because of opposition from the local population (Ezra 4:4–5). Thus, “in the third year of Cyrus,” Daniel lives in an atmosphere of disappointment. During the first month of the year—when Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread should have been celebrated from the 14th to the 21st (Lev 23:5–8)—he fasts and mourns. His experience resembles that described in the books of the Maccabees, which recount that in the time of Antiochus IV, when the sanctuary in Jerusalem lay desolate, “the feasts were turned into mourning” (1 Macc 1:39).

On the twenty-fourth day of the month (Dan 10:4a), an angelic figure appears to Daniel and announces impending battles. The episode may be read in light of the Maccabean tradition (see Porteous 1965, p. 153), which recounts that, in the days of Antiochus IV, “for forty days there appeared over the whole city golden-clad horsemen charging through the air,” troops equipped with lances and unsheathed swords, cavalry units arranged in battle formation, launching attacks and counterattacks on every side (2 Macc 5:2–3 NRSVUE).

Daniel is located by the Tigris River (Dan 10:4b), a place where flowing water would have provided the conditions for ritual purification. Comparable scenes appear elsewhere: priests and returning exiles gather at a river in Ezra (Ezra 8:15), Paul meets a prayer group by the river in Philippi (Acts 16:13), and, according to Josephus, the Jews of Halicarnassus assemble by the sea for prayer (Antiquities 14.258). The Letter of Aristeas likewise notes that the translators in Alexandria wash their hands in the sea before praying, as a “witness of having done no evil, for every deed comes about through the hands” (Aristeas 306, translated in White and Keddie 2018). It is therefore significant that at the water—at a place symbolically marked by purity—Daniel receives his revelation, just as Ezekiel does at the river Chebar (Ezek 1:1), Baruch at the River Gel (3 Bar 1:2^G), and Enoch at the waters of Dan (1 En 13:7).

A figure with a human appearance is then revealed (Dan 10:5–8). Daniel describes linen clothing, a belt of pure gold, a body of extraordinary brightness, the brilliance of topaz, flashes of lightning, blazing torches, and gleaming bronze. What proceeds from heaven shines with heavenly radiance—lumen numen. These verses are particularly notable because they reappear in the New Testament. When Saul encounters the risen Christ on the road to Damascus (Acts 9:7), he undergoes a similar experience. Likewise, the seer in Revelation, when beholding the Risen One, is overwhelmed by a dazzling light reminiscent of Daniel’s vision (Rev 1:13–14).

In Dan 10:8, the divine manifestation sets Daniel apart from the others and confers a distinctive elevation upon him. While his companions flee and hide, he remains “alone” (l^ebaddî) and beholds “this great vision” (hammareh hagg^edôlāh). The scene evokes Moses’ experience: he too witnessed “a great sight” (hammareh haggādôl) at the burning bush (Exod 3:3) and ascended Sinai to approach the Lord “alone” (Exod 24:2).

The encounter leaves Daniel without strength (Dan 10:8). A close reading suggests two levels of meaning. On the literal level, Daniel is physically exhausted; the wording recalls Ps 22:16 and 38:11 (“my strength is dried up… my strength has forsaken me”). The terms kōaḥ and hōd denote physical vigor, and hōd may also refer to the color or beauty of the face. The statement that his hōd “turned to corruption” (i.e., “I turned deathly pale”) indicates that his appearance became corpse-like (Montgomery 1927, p. 407) and may derive from a mistranslation of the Aramaic which occurs in Dan 7:28 (Hartman and DiLella 1978, p. 264).

A second level of meaning, suggested by the broader context of chapters 8–11, is that kōaḥ and hōd refer to Daniel’s socio-political power. Strength is typically associated with leaders, and in Daniel 8 and 11 kōaḥ clearly denotes military or political might; the expression ‘āṣar kōaḥ (“to retain strength”) means “to retain power” (Dan 11:6). Hōd can likewise signify “dignity” or “authority,” as in Num 27:20. Thus, the translation “my dignity was ruined” becomes a plausible rendering. Moreover, the root šāḥat (“to destroy, corrupt”), which appears in this phrase, frequently describes acts of political violence in these chapters.

Taken together, these elements show that Daniel is rendered powerless—both as a human confronted with a heavenly epiphany (cf. Isa 6; Jer 1; Ezek 1) and as a sage whose political authority has been stripped away. His experience parallels that of the other maśkîlîm (“wise” or “teachers”), who are persecuted for their fidelity to God (Dan 11:33–35). These wise ones instruct many, endure suffering, and undergo purification. Daniel himself is identified as a maśkîl in Dan 1:4.

After establishing contact with the heavenly realm, Daniel receives “words” (d^ebārim) written in the “book of truth” (Dan 10:11, 21). As with Moses—who received “words” on Sinai (Exod 24:3–4)—Daniel is granted divine revelation, implying that the author considers a further disclosure beyond that of Moses necessary.

Daniel “stands again” because of these words (Dan 10:11). On the narrative level, he regains his strength; yet the expression “stand in your place” (with the phrase ‘amad ‘al ‘omed) also alludes to institutional standing, since the lexeme ‘omed often denotes an office or appointed position. Nehemiah instructs the prefects (s^egānîm)—officials operating at or just above the level of the provincial governor (Fried 2021)—to occupy their appointed “offices” (‘omdām) in the administration of the Temple (Neh 13:11). In Chronicles, the “hand of God” (yad hā’ĕlōhîm) prompts the priests and Levites to serve in the Temple, each in his designated “place” (2 Chr 30:12–16). King Josiah likewise enacts a covenant with Yhwh when he takes his own “position” (2 Chr 34:31), probably at a specific pillar (hā‘ammûd, 2 Kgs 23:3; cf. 2 Chr 23:13 // 2 Kgs 11:14; with McKenzie 2019). The priests must then take their place at the altar (2 Chr 35:10, 16). In these texts, priests and Levites minister each in his proper station, and kings assume their appointed place in covenant ceremonies.

Against this background, Daniel’s “place” can also be understood as an institutional station. Formerly, his post was at the Babylonian court, where he bore the name “Belteshazzar” (Dan 1:4–5, 7, 19). Now, after the angelic encounter, he must assume a new role and provide leadership for his people. The angel strengthens him with the formula ḥ^azaq waḥ^azāq (Dan 10:19), the same exhortation addressed to Joshua and Solomon (Josh 1:6; 1 Chr 22:13; 28:20). This observation further supports the view that the angelic encounter—summarized solely by expressions that might otherwise be taken as simple opening and closing salutations (“Shalom! Get well and stay healthy!”, Dan 10:19; see Montgomery 1927, p. 415; Delcor 1971, p. 213)—serves to confer a new status upon Daniel.

4. Intertextual Epiphany

While in Dan 2–6, revelation comes through dream divination, in Dan 7–12, the ancient authors introduce an interpreting angel to mediate divine knowledge. This both distances Daniel from direct interaction with the deity and transforms him from a technical diviner into a prophetic figure who depends entirely on revelation (Stökl 2018, p. 150).

Daniel 10 presents Daniel’s experience as a concrete encounter: he sees, hears, and is touched by a heavenly figure whose overwhelming presence renders him senseless, mute, and powerless. Yet one may ask whether this scene is simply a literary composition woven from earlier biblical motifs. Indeed, the allusions are numerous.

The angelic figure resembles the heavenly being seen by Ezekiel (Ezek 1:7–24); the reaction of Daniel’s companions recalls that of the sons of Ornan the Jebusite when the angel of the Lord appeared near the future Temple site (1 Chr 21:20); Daniel’s situation evokes Moses’ experience, both at the burning bush—where Moses beholds “a great vision”—and on Sinai, where he ascends “alone” (Exod 3:3; 24:2); his encounter parallels that of Jeremiah, whose lips are likewise touched by a divine hand (Jer 1:9); and the words of encouragement addressed to Daniel echo the exhortations given to Joshua, Solomon, and Jeremiah (see above).

Strikingly, the biblical books behind these allusions remain unnamed, whereas another book is explicitly cited: the “book of truth” (Dan 10:21). It can be inferred that the traditional Scriptures lead Daniel toward the secrets contained in this heavenly volume, implying a deliberate continuity between the inherited texts and this transcendent book.

Continuing into Daniel 11, it becomes clear that the “book of truth” contains vaticinia ex eventu that resemble Akkadian prophetic compositions such as the Prophetic Speeches of Marduk and Šulgi, the Prophecy of Uruk, or the Dynastic Prophecy (cfr. Collins 2016, pp. 33–34). The angel’s discourse also incorporates themes characteristic of ancient Persian religion: revelations concerning future ages, the activity of angels and demonic beings, final judgment, and the resurrection of the righteous.

Reconstructing the spiritual experience of Daniel—or of the sage writing under that name—is inherently difficult. The experience may be literary fiction, or it may have been formulated in traditional language to render it intelligible and authoritative for its audience (Stone 2011). In either case, traditional Scriptures and new heavenly writings converge: study of the former provides access to the latter, and the interpretation of earlier oracles becomes the pathway toward fresh revelation (see Sanders 2017a).

5. From Babylon to Seleucia-on-Tigris

A careful reading of Daniel 10 yields significant insight into the scribes responsible for the book and who likely identified themselves with its protagonist. The portrait that emerges is multifaceted. Daniel appears as a devout Jew who prays, fasts, repents, and cites the Scriptures of the ancestors. His understanding is expanded through encounters with heavenly beings: although he has companions on earth, his true interlocutors are angels. He is also presented as a figure of broad learning: according to Dan 1:17, he is skilled “in all kinds of writings,” and the revelations he receives draw on the literature of Israel as well as that of other peoples. Daniel belongs to a group described as “skilled in all wisdom” (Dan 1:4). He is the recipient of a knowledge that warrants him authority over his people.

The protagonist of Daniel 10 shares several distinctive features with Ezekiel, the prophet–priest exiled in Babylon who received divine visions by the river Chebar. The connections with the scribal tradition associated with Ezekiel are explicit. Daniel’s theophanic experience echoes Ezekiel’s almost verbatim: the heavenly figure who appears to Daniel is portrayed with the same expressions found in Ezek 1:7, 11, 13, 16, 23, and 24: “His body was like beryl, his face like lightning, his eyes like flaming torches, his arms and legs like the gleam of burnished bronze, and the sound of his words like the roar of a multitude” (Dan 10:6). Similarly to Ezekiel, Daniel imparts his teaching by reworking the literary traditions of his people, perceiving metahistorical realities that resist expression in human language, engaging with celestial beings who mediate knowledge otherwise inaccessible, and conveying his visions through imagery drawn from the Babylonian world (cfr. Peterson 2012).

However, the fact that Daniel is now located by the Tigris suggests a transition from the Neo-Babylonian capital to a Seleucid context. Dan 10:4 explicitly notes that the protagonist is no longer in Babylon—situated along the Euphrates—but farther east, “by the Tigris.” He appears to remain in this setting through the end of the revelation narrated in Dan 10:20–12:4, as indicated by his later vision of two celestial figures standing on opposite banks of the “river” (Dan 12:5).

Although the reference to the river Tigris is widely regarded as a gloss by most commentators, the reason for its insertion still calls for explanation. According to Charles, it may have been introduced between 164 and 145 BCE, when Dan 1:1–2:4a and 8:1–12:2 were translated into Hebrew from an original Aramaic version, possibly by different hands (Charles 1929, pp. xlvi–xlviii, xlix–l, 256). Plöger, by contrast, places Daniel on the Euphrates (sic) and suggests that the mention of companions may indicate that he was on an official journey (Plöger 1965, pp. 145, 148). In Hartman-DiLella’s commentary, the glossator is thought to have had Dan 8:2 in mind, where Daniel is depicted as being transported to Susa, a city closer to the Tigris than to the Euphrates (Hartman and DiLella 1978, p. 263). Goldingay finds little justification for identifying the reference as a gloss, arguing instead that the Tigris is “not so far from Babylon” (Goldingay 1989, p. 275). Montgomery, Lacocque, and Collins likewise consider the reference a gloss, though they do not offer an explanation for its insertion (Montgomery 1927, p. 409; Lacocque 1976, p. 153; Collins 1993, p. 373). As Newsom observes (Newsom 2014, p. 330), the Achaemenid framework of Dan 10:1 may have prompted—perhaps at the hand of a glossator—a relocation of Daniel to a more easterly site. The reference to the Tigris is also found in the book of Tobit (Tob 6:1), whose origins and theological outlook exhibit notable affinities with Daniel (Ego 2021).

Given the Seleucid provenance of the book of Daniel, Dan 10:4 may allude to Seleucia, the Seleucid capital located roughly 60 km northeast of Babylon. Founded around 306 BCE, the city embodied the culture of the Hellenistic rulers while sustaining striking cultural diversity. Its layout followed Greek urban models—with a theater and stoa—yet it also contained a Mesopotamian temple and a Babylonian-style archive. Acknowledged in the astronomical diaries as “the royal city” (Sachs and Hunger 1988, no. 273; Sachs and Hunger 1996, no. 149), Seleucia projected a “universal” identity through its characteristic blend of Hellenistic features with Iranian and Babylonian elements (Gauger 2005; Capdetrey 2007; Invernizzi 2011). At once “global and local” (Messina 2021), it integrated Iranian, Babylonian, and Athenian elements. By 286 BCE, it was already serving as the administrative center of the eastern part of the kingdom and grew into a major trading hub of some 600,000 inhabitants, primarily Babylonians, Macedonians, Greeks, and Jews (van der Spek 2008). Both Greek and Aramaic circulated widely, and Greek civic institutions coexisted alongside Semitic officials.

Archaeological discoveries further underscore this cultural hybridity (Invernizzi 2004): royal images combining the Greek diadem with the Babylonian horn, Egyptian sphinxes, Babylonian scorpions, mušḫuššu dragons, and various hybrid creatures reminiscent of those in Daniel 7. Such an environment provides a setting compatible with the multicultural milieu in which the traditions of the maśkîlîm developed and took shape prior to the book’s final redaction centered on Judea.

6. Conclusions

Daniel 10 foregrounds several features that illuminate both the literary craft and the worldview of the earliest apocalyptic authors. The scribes responsible for these texts immerse themselves in inherited Scriptures, convinced of their divine origin and enduring authority. Through reading and hearing God’s words, they understand themselves to share life with angels, involved in a daily practice of revelation that wove together nature, culture, and the supernatural, integrating their own written productions with the primordial divine speech that shaped the world (Sanders 2017b). In their compositions, they draw on traditional language and imagery, investing ancient revelations with renewed meaning (Jassen 2014, pp. 70–71). Interpretation thus becomes a mode of revelation: through the exegesis of earlier texts, new insights emerge that are regarded as inspired and angelically mediated.

At the same time, these authors are unmistakably children of their Hellenistic world. Their writings participate in the broader processes of acculturation, assimilation, and hybridization that shaped the eastern Mediterranean (Mittag 2023). Apocalyptic discourse weaves together Jewish, Mesopotamian–Seleucid, and Persian traditions (Collins 2016, pp. 33–46), in a manner consistent with ancient conceptions of wisdom, which proceeds from the one God and leads back to him (Prov 8:22).

Daniel’s apocalyptic teaching appears to reflect the activity of scribes connected to the Seleucid administration, operating between the eastern diaspora and Jerusalem, and inclined to exercise charismatic leadership within their communities. They exhort the faithful to persevere through the present crisis until God’s kingdom prevails, discerning within history a divine plan that discloses what “must” come to pass.

As noted in the introduction, their message echoes through various forms and narratives and even resonates in early Christian proclamation. When Jesus announces, “The time is fulfilled; the kingdom of God has drawn near; repent and believe in the gospel” (Mark 1:15), his summons echoes the language and pedagogy of the maśkîlîm. In Aramaic, his call to repentance may well have sounded as an invitation to become wise: haśkîlû!

Viewed in this light, the analysis offered here underscores two contributions to the interpretation of Daniel 10. First, it clarifies how intertextuality functions not merely as a marker of continuity with earlier prophetic traditions but as a deliberate strategy for authorizing a distinctive form of scribal leadership within an apocalyptic framework. Second, by situating the reference to the Tigris within the Seleucid-era landscape of Seleucia-on-the-Tigris, the article anchors the vision historically and ideologically, showing how geographical imagination participates in the construction of apocalyptic meaning. Together, these findings suggest that Daniel 10 consciously integrates scriptural exegesis, historical setting, and ideological self-representation in the formation of early Jewish apocalyptic thought.