Tag: British Museum

Hagar and her son Ishmael

Hagar and her son Ishmael

Ishmael and Isaac: children of one father.

It took me a few years writing this story about Hagar and her son Ishmael, and about Abraham, Ishmael’s father. And also about Sarah and her son Isaac, who is Ishmael’s half-brother. Ishmael and Isaac: they are children of one father.

It’s not difficult to find paintings on this subject. Many artists over the centuries have taken it up, drawn to the emotional and dramatic interaction between the figures. But I hesitated for a long time, because this story stands at a crossroads between Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. And over time, the story of Isaac and Ishmael as half-brothers – perhaps quarreling, as brothers do – has been used, or even abused, to explain political and religious tensions, especially in the long struggle between Arabs and Jews.

But that is not the story I want to tell. I want to approach it differently, as a story of shared origin. A story of children of one father.

Here are the topics we’ll explore, following the narrative of the Book of Genesis:

Let’s start!

Abraham, Sarah, Hagar, and Ishmael

Let’s begin at the very beginning. With that odd old couple, Abraham and Sarah, both well over a hundred years old, and still no children! But Sarah has an idea!

Sarah leading Hagar to Abraham (1673), Caspar Netscher (Dutch, 1639 – 1684), 60x51cm, The Leiden Collection, New York.

They had grown old together, and the hope of ever having a child seemed to have faded. In the biblical account, it is Sarah who suggests that Abraham have a child with her young Egyptian maidservant, Hagar. Sarah blamed herself for their childlessness, saying, “The Lord has kept me from having children.” So she offered Hagar to Abraham, hoping to build a family through her. Abraham agreed, and Hagar became pregnant. She gave birth to a son, and they named him Ishmael. Abraham was the father.

Sarah leading Hagar to Abraham (c.1644), Matthias Stom (Dutch, c.1600 – after 1650), 113x168cm, Gemäldegalerie, Berlin.

A son is promised to Sarah

Then comes the next phase in the story. One day, Abraham and Sarah receive an unexpected visitor: an angel! The story makes it clear that this is a messenger of God, appearing in disguise.

Abraham, Sarah, and the Angel announcing the birth of their son (c.1520), Jan Provoost (Netherlandish, c.1465 – 1529), 71x58cm, Louvre, Paris.

The angel’s message sounds completely unbelievable: Sarah, at her advanced age, will have a son within a year. Abraham is told this directly. And he reacts with a gesture, as we see in Jan Provoost’s painting from the Louvre. Pointing toward his wife as if to say, “Her? At her age?” Sarah, standing in the doorway on the right, overhears it. Her reaction is the most human of all: she laughs. The Hebrew text says she laughs “within herself,” a kind of private chuckle of disbelief. One might say: she laughed out loud. The biblical version of LOL.

The name of the promised child will be Isaac, which fittingly means “he laughs.”

Two brothers: Ishmael and Isaac

Now there are two sons, Ishmael and Isaac. Two brothers, both children of Abraham, but from different mothers. Ishmael, the older, is the son of Hagar, Sarah’s Egyptian servant. Isaac, the younger, is the long-awaited child of Sarah, the mistress of the house.

Sarah complains to Abraham about Ishmael, and asking him to send Hagar and Ishmael away (1563), Willem Willemsz. Thibaut (Netherlandish, c.1524 – c.1597), Etching and engraving, 21x24cm, Herzog Anton Ulrich-Museum, Braunsweig, Germany.

Though they share a father, their positions could not be more different. One is born of a servant, the other of a free woman. One is firstborn, the other the child of promise.

The story suggests that there was tension between the boys. They were probably like any brothers, playing, teasing, perhaps quarreling? But Sarah becomes concerned. Or perhaps protective. She sees something, maybe rivalry, maybe mischief, and she is not pleased. In some versions, Ishmael is mocking Isaac. In others, it’s more ambiguous. But Sarah is firm. She turns to Abraham and tells him what she wants: send Hagar and Ishmael away.

In the print above, which I use to illustrate this scene, you can see Sarah speaking to Abraham in the foreground, and in the background, the two boys playing, fighting, hard to tell which. But the tension is there.

Abraham sends Hagar and Ishmael away

This next moment in the story has stirred the imagination of many artists. The emotional weight is immense: father and son, torn apart. Hagar, the mother, cast out. And Sarah, determined to protect her own child.

Abraham casting out Hagar and Ishmael (c.1715), Philip van Dijk (Dutch, 1680 – 1753), 50x41cm, Louvre, Paris.

The Bible gives us the core of what happens. Sarah sees the two boys, Isaac and Ishmael, and she turns to Abraham and says, “Get rid of that slave woman and her son. He is not going to share the inheritance with my son, Isaac. I won’t have it.”

Abraham casting out Hagar and Ishmael (1637), Rembrandt van Rijn (Dutch, 1606 – 1669), Etching and drypoint, 13x10cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

Abraham is deeply upset. Ishmael is his son. He does not want to send him away. But he listens, because a voice tells him to. For Abraham that’s the voice of God reassuring him that Isaac is the one through whom the family line will be counted. But God also gives Abraham this promise: “I will make a nation of the descendants of Hagar’s son because he is your son too.” That nation, in Islamic tradition, will be the Arab people. Ishmael is seen as the ancestor of the Arabs, and his role is honored as a founding figure.

Abraham casting out Hagar and Ishmael (c.1653), Gabriel Metsu (Dutch, 1629 – 1667), Museum De Lakenhal, Leiden, The Netherlands.

So Abraham rises early the next morning. He prepares food, gives Hagar a supply of water, and sends her away with Ishmael. And the two of them wander into the desert.

Abraham casting out Hagar and Ishmael(1612), Pieter Lastman (Dutch, 1583 – 1633), 48x71cm), Hamburger Kunsthalle, Hamburg.

This moment, the sending away, has become a favorite subject for painters and printmakers. And it is easy to see why. It is a perfect scene to show all the emotions: Abraham’s pain, Hagar’s grief, Ishmael’s innocence, Sarah’s determination. And the stillness of the moment before the wilderness swallows them.

Abraham casting out Hagar and Ishmael (1657), Guercino (Giovanni Francesco Barbieri, Italian, 1591 – 1666), 115x152cm, Pinacoteca di Brera, Milan.
Abraham casting out Hagar and Ishmael(1516), Lucas van Leyden (Dutch, 1494 – 1533), Engraving, 15x13cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

Hagar and Ishmael in the desert

And so, Hagar and her son Ishmael find themselves alone in the desert. When the water runs out, Hagar breaks. In panic she runs up and down between the hills in the desert, all the time the same circle, and no water!

Hagar in the Wilderness (1835), Camille Corot (French, 1796 – 1875), 180x271cm, Metropolitan, New York.

She places the boy in the shade and walks away, just far enough so she doesn’t have to watch him die. She sits down, weeping. Her words are raw: “I don’t want to watch the boy die.” It’s despair in its purest form. But then something shifts. The text in Genesis tells us that God hears the boy’s cries. An angel calls to Hagar — not one she sees, but one she hears: “Hagar, what’s wrong? Do not be afraid! Go to your boy and comfort him, for I will make a great nation from his descendants.”

Hagar and the Angel (18th Century), Giuseppe Bottani (Italian, 1717 – 1784), 40x73cm, Louvre, Paris.

In that moment, Hagar opens her eyes. And there, suddenly, is a well. Water. Life. She runs to fill her container and gives Ishmael a drink.

Hagar and the Angel (c.1640), Pier Francesco Mola (Italian, 1612 – 1666), 27x35cm, Louvre, Paris.

Ishmael survives. He grows up in the wilderness. He has many children, and through his line, the people of the Arab deserts trace their ancestry. This moment of despair, transformed by courage and grace, becomes the beginning of a nation.

Hagar and the Angel (c.1645), Carel Fabritius (Dutch, 1622 – 1654), 158x136cm, The Leiden Collection, New York.

This story isn’t just one of near-death and rescue — it’s also a story of inner voice, of resilience pushed into action. The Bible says Hagar heard the angel, not saw him. Perhaps the angel was not a visible figure, but a message rising up from within: “Please do not give up, but give it another try. There is still hope.” In Carel Fabritius’ painting, this is shown beautifully — the angel stands behind Hagar. She does not see him. She hears him, as an inner message of encouragement. And that makes all the difference. The image of Hagar in the desert, distraught and fearing for Ishmael’s life, is also an image of hope. This moment symbolizes the resilience and faith that inspire perseverance, even in the darkest times.

Family reunion

There is something deeply moving in how these family ties circle back. According to Arab tradition, Abraham — known as Ibrahim — and his son Ishmael reconciled later in life. Together, they built the Kaaba in Mecca, which became the spiritual heart of Islam. The well Hagar discovered, now called the Zamzam well, still flows near the Kaaba, inside the Great Mosque.

Abraham is buried by Isaac and Ishmael in the Cave of Machpelah (c.1728), Engraving and etching by Gillian van der Gouwen (South Netherlandish, active 1669 – 1720), after design by Gerard Hoet (Dutch, 1648 – 1733), 36x23cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Ghent, Belgium.

And in the Jewish and Christian traditions, Isaac and Ishmael too found each other again. When Abraham died at the age of 175, it was both his sons, Isaac and Ishmael, who came together to bury him. As it is written in Genesis: “Abraham lived for 175 years, and he died at a ripe old age, having lived a long and satisfying life. He breathed his last and joined his ancestors in death. His sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah.”

Ishmael and Isaac and the burial of Abraham, from the series ‘Icones Biblicae’ (c.1625), Matthäus Merian (Swiss, 1593 – 1650), Etching, 11x15cm, British Museum, London.

So perhaps this story, often seen as the origin of division, also carries the seeds of reunion. Two brothers, children of one father!

Bonus: from desert to pilgrimage – Hagar’s legacy in Mecca

To bring the story of Hagar and Ishmael into our present day, we can look to the sacred city of Mecca, where Muslims from around the world travel each year to perform the Hajj, the holy pilgrimage. This city of 2.5 million inhabitants, visited by more than 20 million pilgrims annually, was built on the site in the desert where Hagar found water for Ishmael, named as the Zamzam well.

Great Mosque of Mecca (Masjid al-Haram).

Today, the Great Mosque of Mecca, the Masjid al-Haram, stands on this sacred ground. It is the most holy site in the Islamic world, and within its walls, several locations are directly tied to the story of Hagar, Ishmael, and Abraham (Ibrahim in the Islamic tradition):

  • The Kaaba — the cuboid-shaped building at the heart of the mosque and the most sacred site in Islam. It is the structure that, according to tradition, was built or rebuilt by Abraham and Ishmael, together as father and son.
  • The Hijr Ismail — a semicircular area adjacent to the Kaaba that pilgrims are not to walk upon. It marks the site where Abraham constructed a shelter for Hagar and Ishmael.
  • The Zamzam Well — the water source discovered by Hagar after hearing the angel’s message to keep searching. To this day, pilgrims can receive a five-liter bottle of Zamzam water.
  • Safa and Marwa — two small hills now enclosed within a covered passageway. This is where Hagar, in her desperation, ran back and forth seven times in search of water for her child. That journey is reenacted by pilgrims as part of the Hajj ritual.

So the footsteps of Hagar, a woman alone in the desert, a mother desperately searching for life for her son, are still being followed by millions today. Her strength, her voice, her perseverance have become a foundational memory in the faith of Islam.

Perseus and Medusa

Perseus and Medusa

Super Hero and #MeToo

After exploring prophets, sinners, and saints from the Biblical tradition, it’s time to turn back to the world of Greek mythology. Let’s start with two of its most iconic figures: Perseus and Medusa. Her story resonates today as a #MeToo narrative; his tale reads like the script of a modern superhero film. Greek myths may be older than the Bible, but the themes they carry, such as good versus evil, justice for the wronged, and the quest for hope, are timeless. So let’s dive in.

To give some context, I’ll introduce the two main characters, Perseus and Medusa, before following Perseus through his adventures, from his miraculous birth as the child of one of Zeus’ escapades to his dramatic wedding with Andromeda. The topics we’ll explore are:

The recurring theme: a busy life for our superhero and the eternal struggle between good and evil.

The Main Characters: Perseus and Medusa

Perseus is one of the prominent heroes in Greek mythology. Unlike some other Greek heroes, his strength did not rely solely on brute force but also on inner qualities like courage and determination. He was the son of Zeus, king of the gods, and Danaë, a mortal princess. Perseus is best remembered for slaying Medusa and for rescuing Andromeda from a sea monster.

Medusa, once a beautiful priestess in the temple of Athena, is one of the tragic figures in mythology. She was raped by Poseidon in Athena’s sacred temple. Because the act defiled a holy space, and possibly because Medusa had boasted of her beauty, Athena punished her by transforming her flowing hair into venomous snakes. And from that moment on, anyone who looked directly at Medusa would be turned to stone.

Poseidon, the rapist, went unpunished. It was the victim who bore the consequences. We do not know if Poseidon felt guilt or ever faced the weight of what he had done. What we do know is that Medusa became the embodiment of female suffering, even labeled a monster. Her transformation has come to symbolize the way women are punished or demonized. In today’s world, Medusa’s story is often reinterpreted through the lens of the #MeToo movement, challenging us to consider who the real monster truly was.

Perseus, Roman copy after a Greek original of the 5th century BCE, Marble, height 29cm, Centrale Montemartini, Musei Capitolini, Rome. Medusa (c.1646), Gian Lorenzo Bernini (Italian, 1598 – 1680), Marble, height 68cm, Musei Capitolini, Rome.

Danaë, Perseus’ mother; Zeus, his father

Perseus was born under remarkable and mysterious circumstances. His mother was Danaë, a mortal princess and daughter of Acrisius, the king of Argos. Acrisius, obsessed with control and fearful of fate, had received a chilling prophecy: one day, he would be killed by his own grandson. To stop this from happening, he locked Danaë in a bronze chamber, isolated high in a tower, where no man could reach her.

Danaë and the shower of gold (1527), Jan Gossaert (Flemish, c.1472 – 1532), Oli on panel, 114x95cm, Alte Pinakothek, München.

But the gods, as always in Greek myth, find a way. Zeus, king of the gods, saw Danaë and desired her. Taking the form of a shower of gold, he entered her prison and impregnated her. In time, Danaë gave birth to a son, whom she named Perseus.

Danaë and the shower of gold (c.1621), Orazio Gentileschi (Italian, 1563 – 1639), Oil on canvas, 162x227cm, Getty Center, Los Angeles.

When Acrisius discovered the child, he was furious and terrified. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to kill his own daughter and her infant directly. Instead, he sealed them in a wooden chest and cast them out to sea, leaving their survival to fate. But Zeus watched over them!

The sea carried Danaë and Perseus safely to the island of Seriphos, where a kind fisherman named Dictys took them in. Dictys raised Perseus as his own, and the boy grew into a brave and spirited young man.

Danaë and the little Perseus put in a chest by King Acrisius (c.470BCE), Stamnos (storage bowl), Attributed to the Deepdene Painter, produced in Attica (Greece), height 39cm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

(A note from the future: many years later, when Perseus had grown into a man, he took part in the Olympic Games. During a discus throw, his aim went astray and struck down a spectator. That man was none other than King Acrisius, his own grandfather. The prophecy Acrisius was so afraid of was fulfilled, by a tragic accident. But that lies far ahead in the story. For now, we return to the adventures of Perseus as a youth.)

King Acrisius sending off Danaë and Perseus in a chest (c.470BCE), Lekythos (oil vessel), Attributed to the Providence Painter, height 41cm, Toledo Museum of Art, Toledo, OH.
Danaë and the little Perseus put in a chest by King Acrisius (c.490BCE), Hydria (water bowl), Attributed to the Gallatin Painter, produced in Attica (Greece), height: 42cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

As Perseus matured, he became fiercely protective of his mother. Her beauty had not faded, and it attracted the unwanted attention of many men, including the island’s ruler, King Polydectes. Polydectes was aggressive and arrogant, and he was determined to marry Danaë, whether she agreed or not. Perseus saw through him immediately and did everything he could to protect his mother.

Danaë locked in the tower, Perseus with his mother Danaë drifting away, the fisherman Dictys who found Perseus and his mother, and King Polydectes who will soon start harassing Danë.
Illustration (c.1470) from Raoul Lefèvre (French, 15th Century) “Recoeil des Histoires de Troyes”, 9x12cm, Koninklijke Bibliotheek KB 78 D 48, National Library of the Netherlands, The Hague. For the full page of the manuscript, with text and illustration, click here.

An impossible task: killing Medusa

Frustrated, Polydectes devised a plan to get Perseus out of the way. He announced he was marrying someone else and demanded that all his subjects bring him wedding gifts. Perseus, relieved that his mother wasn’t the bride, promised to give Polydectes whatever he wanted. The king seized the opportunity and asked for something outrageous: the head of Medusa, whose gaze could turn anyone to stone.

Perseus agreed, though he had no idea how he would complete such an impossible task.

Help from Athena and Hermes

To carry out the impossible task of killing Medusa, Perseus received crucial help from two gods: Athena, goddess of wisdom, and Hermes, the swift messenger of the gods.

Perseus Armed by Athena and Hermes (1604), engraver Jan Harmensz. Muller (Dutch, 1571 – 1628) after design by Bartholomeus Spranger (Flemish, 1546 – 1611), Engraving, 57x40cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

Athena gave Perseus a highly polished bronze shield. It would allow him to see Medusa’s reflection without looking directly at her. A pretty vital move, since anyone who met her gaze would instantly turn to stone. Hermes provided him with winged sandals, enabling him to fly, and a sharp curved sword.

Perseus Armed by Athena and Hermes (c.1550), Paris Bordone (Italian, 1500 – 1571), Oil on canvas, 104x153cm, Birmingham Museum of Art, Birmingham, AL.

With Athena’s guidance and Hermes’s gifts, Perseus was ready to face the deadly Medusa. He flew to her, used the mirror-like shield to watch her movements, and without ever meeting her eyes, struck with precision. In one swift motion, he cut off her head, snakes and all.

Perseus with the Head of Medusa (1554), Benvenuto Cellini (Italian, 1500 – 1571), Bronze, height 519cm, Loggia dei Lanzi, Piazza della Signoria, Florence.
Perseus about to kill Medusa with the the guidance of Athena (c.1636), engraver Cornelis Bloemaert (Dutch, c.1603 – 1692) after design by Abraham van Diepenbeeck (Dutch, 1596 – 1675), Illustration from Michel de Marolles “Temple des Muses” (Amsterdam, 1676), Engraving, 28x18cm, Heidelberg University Library, Heidelberg, Germany.
The Head of Medusa (1618), Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640 Antwerpen), and the snakes by Frans Snyders (Flemish, 1579 – 1657), Oil on canvas, 69x118cm, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.
Perseus after cutting off Medusa’s head (c.460BCE), Hydria (water bowl), attributed to the Pan Painter, produced in Attica (Greece), excavated in Capua (Campania, Italy), height 34cm, British Museum, London.

Death of Medusa and the birth of Pegasus

As Perseus struck off Medusa’s head, something extraordinary happened. From the blood that poured from her neck, a winged horse sprang forth. This was Pegasus, who became Perseus’s loyal companion.

Perseus now carried two powerful tools. One was the head of Medusa, which still had the power to turn anyone who looked at it into stone. The other was Pegasus, the magical horse who could fly. With these, Perseus began his journey home. He planned to return to Seriphos, confront King Polydectes, and reunite with his mother Danaë.

Perseus on Pegasus, after slaying Medusa (1925), John Singer Sargent (American, 1856 – 1925), Oil on canvas, 348x318cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

But the way back would not be simple. Like many heroes, Perseus would face new challenges on the road. Each test would reveal more of his courage, his cleverness, and his sense of justice.

Atlas becomes a mountain

On his journey home, Perseus grew tired and stopped to rest in a distant land. This place was ruled by Atlas, a mighty giant who stood guard over a sacred garden. Perseus asked for shelter, explaining that he was the son of Zeus. But Atlas remembered a prophecy that warned him a son of Zeus would one day steal the golden apples from his garden. Fearing the prophecy, Atlas refused to let Perseus stay.

Atlas being transformed into a mountain range (1606), “Atlas ob inhospitalitatem in montem sui nominis” or “Atlas, because of his inhospitality, turned into a mountain of his own name” from Ovidius’ Metamorphoses, Antonio Tempesta (Italian, 1555 – 1630), Etching, 10x12cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

Perseus did not argue. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out the head of Medusa. When Atlas looked upon it, he was instantly turned to stone. His great body became part of the earth. His beard and hair turned into forests. His shoulders and arms became ridges and cliffs. His head rose into the sky as a high mountain. This, according to legend, is how the Atlas Mountains in Morocco originated and came to be named after the giant Atlas.

Perseus and Andromeda

As Perseus traveled home, riding the winged horse Pegasus, he flew over the coastline of ancient Ethiopia. There, he saw a young woman chained to the rocks at the edge of the sea. Her name was Andromeda. She had been left as a sacrifice to a sea monster, sent to punish the land for her mother’s pride. Her mother, Queen Cassiopeia, had once claimed that Andromeda was more beautiful than the sea spirits. This angered Poseidon, god of the sea. In revenge, he sent a terrifying monster to attack the coast. The only way to stop the destruction, the people believed, was to offer Andromeda to the creature.

Perseus and Andromeda (c.1592), Giuseppe Cesari (Italian, 1568-1640), Oli on slate, 71x55cm, Rhose Island School of Design Museum, Providence, RI.

Perseus was struck by Andromeda’s beauty, and he made a promise to save her. As the sea monster rose from the waves, Perseus flew into action. Riding Pegasus, he waited for the perfect moment. Then, at just the right time, he pulled Medusa’s head from his bag. The monster looked…, and instantly turned to stone.

Perseus releases Andromeda (c.1622), Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), Oil on canvas, 100x139cm, Hermitage, St. Petersburg.

Andromeda’s parents, the king and queen, were filled with gratitude. Perseus asked for Andromeda’s hand in marriage, and she agreed. Together, they would set off for his homeland. But their story was not over yet.

Wedding of Perseus and Andromeda, and Phineas as unwanted guest

After rescuing Andromeda, Perseus was welcomed as a hero. The wedding was quickly arranged, and the royal palace filled with celebration. But not everyone was pleased. At the height of the feast, an angry voice echoed through the hall. It was Phineus, Andromeda’s former fiancé. He stormed in with a group of armed men, furious that the bride had been given to another. He shouted that Andromeda had been promised to him, and that Perseus had stolen her. Tension rose. The joyful feast turned into chaos. Phineus and his followers attacked. Perseus tried to fight them off, but he was badly outnumbered.

Perseus turning Phineas and his followers to stone (c.1640), Luca Giordano (Italian, 1634 – 1705), Oil on canvas, 285×366cm, National Gallery, London.

Then, as a last resort, Perseus reached for the most fearsome weapon he had: the severed head of Medusa. Holding it aloft, he turned his gaze away. The attackers, caught mid-charge, had no time to look away. One by one, their bodies froze in place. Faces twisted in rage, weapons raised, they turned to cold, silent stone. The room fell quiet. Phineus was no more. The threat was over. The marriage of Perseus and Andromeda could finally begin in peace.


Perseus turns Phineas and companions into stone by showing them Medusa’s head (c.1605), Annibale Carracci (Italian, 1560 – 1609) and Domenichino (Italian, 1581 – 1641), fresco, c.500x200cm, Galleria dei Carracci, Palazzo Farnese, Rome.

Saving his mother Danaë, and confronting Polydectes

After his adventures abroad, Perseus returned home to the island where he had grown up. But all was not well there. His mother, Danaë, was still being harassed by King Polydectes, who had never given up his attempts to force her into marriage. She had taken refuge in the temple of Athena, hiding from the king’s relentless advances.

King Polydectes petrified by Medusa’s head (1676), illustration from Isaac De Benserade’s “Metamorphoses d’Ovide en rondeaux”, engraved by Sébastien Leclerc (French, 1637 – 1714), 8x10cm, Bibliothèque municipale de Lyon, France.

Perseus went straight to the palace and confronted Polydectes. Without a word, Perseus pulled the head of Medusa from his bag. Polydectes and his supporters, unprepared and arrogant, looked straight at it and turned to stone. With justice served and his mother finally safe, Perseus restored peace to the island.

Medusa’s head on Athena’s shield

After the sea monster was killed, Andromeda and his mother Danaë saved, and justice delivered, Perseus fulfilled one last promise. He returned the head of Medusa to Athena, the goddess who had guided him on his quest.

Perseus, Athena with the head of Medusa, and Hermes (c.395BCE), Krater (mixing bowl) by the so-called Tarporley Painter, produced in Apulia (Italy), height 31cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, MA.

Athena took the powerful object and placed it at the center of her shield. From then on, Medusa’s stony gaze would serve to protect. It would turn away evil, and remind all who saw it of the strength found in wisdom and courage.

Athena and her shield with Medusa’s Head (c.1585), engraver Jan Saenredam (Dutch, 1565 – 1607) after design by Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Engraving, 21x14cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Medusa on a shield (1597), Caravaggio (Italian, 1571 – 1610), Oil on panel, 60x55cm, Le Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence.

Closing Notes

So what do we make of Perseus? Like Daniel from the biblical tradition, he is not a hero of brute force but of cleverness, courage, and integrity. Both are young men who rise to great challenges with the help of higher powers, whether divine faith or Olympian favor. They confront arrogant rulers, monsters in both human and mythic form, and they stand up for those who cannot protect themselves.

The stories of Perseus are older than the Bible, mythological in form, but in essence they tell the same tale: that justice can prevail, and that even in dark times, there is hope for the oppressed. Daniel’s story, though biblical in origin, mirrors these ancient myths in spirit. Both narratives teach us that the powerful who act with pride and hubris will be humbled. Both reveal a world where integrity matters more than might. And both reassure us that in the end, with the help of God or the gods, peace can be restored.

Bonus: Versace!

Now from myth to Milan! The famous fashion house Versace uses the head of Medusa as its logo, a direct nod to Greek mythology. The choice wasn’t random. As children, the Versace siblings played among ancient ruins near Reggio Calabria in southern Italy. There, on an old mosaic floor, they encountered the image of Medusa.

Versace Medusa plate (1993), Rosenthal Porcelain, Ø30cm.

Gianni Versace chose Medusa as the brand’s emblem. In myth, those who looked at her were turned to stone. In fashion, he hoped those who looked at his designs would be equally spellbound and captivated. Unlike Perseus, who avoided her gaze, we are drawn to it willingly, mesmerized. Carefully of course, because style and beauty can petrify!

Daniel

Daniel

“Prophet or not, visionary for sure!”

Now that I’ve written about Jeremiah and Isaiah, it’s time to turn to Daniel and Ezekiel. These four are known as the Major Prophets, meaning they each have a full “major” book named after them in both the Hebrew and Christian Bibles. Ezekiel is a challenge, though. His visions are so abstract that they’re hard to picture, which makes him a tricky subject for visual storytelling.

Daniel, on the other hand, had plenty of adventures, and artists have loved depicting them in paintings and prints. Drama galore! He’s not always seen as a traditional “prophet” in the sense of an old wise man foretelling the future, but Daniel was definitely a visionary, and young and beautiful, and a smart cookie too! Here are some of the stories around Daniel, brought to life through art. Enjoy!

The Prophet Daniel, from the series Icones Prophetarurm Veteris Testamenti or Portraits of Old Testament Prophets (c.1620), Engraving by Cornelis Galle (1576 - 1650), after design by Jan van der Straat (1523 - 1605), 17x13cm, British Museum, London.
Daniel looks like a pretty young guy compared to the other prophets; see Jeremiah or Isaiah for the contrast. This is an engraving from a series of Prophets. Daniel for sure the youngest (and prettiest).
The Prophet Daniel, from the series Icones Prophetarurm Veteris Testamenti or Portraits of Old Testament Prophets (c.1620), Engraving by Cornelis Galle (1576 – 1650), after design by Jan van der Straat (1523 – 1605), 17x13cm, British Museum, London.

First some background on Daniel: He was part of the Jewish nobility in Jerusalem, but taken into exile when the Babylonians, under King Nebuchadnezzar, attacked and destroyed the city in 586 BC and looted its grand temple. Daniel and many others were deported to Babylon. Despite being a foreigner in exile, Daniel rose to a respected position at the royal Babylonian court, thanks to his intelligence and striking beauty.

The illustrated stories I’ll be exploring are:

A recurring theme in these stories is the downfall of rulers who abuse their power, and the triumph of justice. Daniel is on our side with his patience, wisdom and moral courage.

Daniel explains the dream of Nebuchadnezzar

Daniel before Nebuchadnezzar (c.1630), Salomon Koninck (1609 - 1656), Oil on canvas, 165x165cm, National Trust, Kedleston Hall, Derbyshire, United Kingdom.
Daniel before Nebuchadnezzar, explaining the king’s dream (c.1630), Salomon Koninck (1609 – 1656), Oil on canvas, 165x165cm, National Trust, Kedleston Hall, Derbyshire, United Kingdom.

In Salomon Koninck’s Daniel before Nebuchadnezzar (c.1630), we see the young exile Daniel standing calmly before the powerful Babylonian king, counting to four on his fingers as he explains the king’s troubling dream that none of the royal wise men, seen on the left searching in books, could decipher. The king had dreamt of a giant statue made of four materials: a golden head, silver chest, bronze torso, and legs of iron mixed with clay. The statue was terrifying in appearance, until a mysterious stone struck it and shattered it to dust. Daniel reveals that the statue represents a succession of kingdoms, with Nebuchadnezzar’s own Babylonian empire as the golden head, and each one destined to fall.

The dream’s deeper meaning would unfold over generations. Babylon eventually fell to the Medes and Persians, just as Daniel had foretold. Koninck’s painting captures the quiet authority of Daniel among the king’s scribes, as the young visionary reveals that even the most powerful rulers are subject to the judgment of time and of something greater than themselves.

This story remains a warning to rulers of all eras not to overreach in their power, because pride and arrogance are always destined to fall, even for the mightiest people on earth.

The Writing on the Wall

Now to the next story, about King Belshazzar, a successor of Nebuchadnezzar. Belshazzar once held a lavish feast, using the sacred gold and silver vessels that had been looted from the temple in Jerusalem, Daniel’s homeland. At the height of the party, a mysterious hand appeared and began writing glowing words on the wall. No one could interpret them, so Daniel was summoned. He was the only one who understood the message: “mene, mene, tekel, upharsin”.

Belshazzar's Feast (c.1636), Rembrandt van Rijn (1606 - 1669), Oil on canvas, 168x209cm, National Gallery London.
During a lavish party at King Belshazzar’s court, a mysterious hand writes a message on the wall. And look at the precious gold and silverware, all stolen from the temple in Jerusalem; that was not respectful to use those. That night the kingdom of Babylon fell, as predicted in the writing on the wall.
Belshazzar’s Feast, and the writing on the wall (c.1636), Rembrandt van Rijn (1606 – 1669), Oil on canvas, 168x209cm, National Gallery London.

Daniel explained it as a divine judgment, and told King Belshazzar that this is what it means:

Mene means numbered, the days of your reign are numbered, and they are ended.

Tekel means weighed, you have been weighed and found wanting, you have failed the test.

Upharsin means divided, your kingdom will be divided and given to the Medes and Persians.

The message foretold the fall of Belshazzar and the end of the Babylonian kingdom. Daniel warned the king that by arrogantly flaunting the temple treasures and ruling with excess and pride, he had sealed his own fate. That very night, Belshazzar was killed, and the Persians took control of Babylon.

Rembrandt’s Belshazzar’s Feast captures this moment of divine intervention with dramatic intensity. The story remains a warning to rulers who govern with arrogance and disregard for justice. It also offers a quiet message of hope to the oppressed: power built on pride will not last, and justice will come in time.

The Writing on the Wall at Belshazzar's Feast (c.1400), from Weltchronik by Rudolf von Ems (Austrian, c1200 - 1254), unknown makers, Tempera colors, gold, silver paint, and ink, Illuminated Manuscript Ms. 33 (88.MP.70), fol. 214v, Getty Center, Los Angeles. (the illustration)
Same story from an illustrated manuscript. A mysterious hand is writing a message on the wall. The old wise men at the left have nu clue, but the little Daniel, in blue in the front, explains to king Belshazzar what it means: “your time has come, your kingdom will fall”!
The Writing on the Wall at Belshazzar’s Feast (c.1400), from Weltchronik by Rudolf von Ems (Austrian, c1200 – 1254), unknown makers, Tempera colors, gold, silver paint, and ink, Illuminated Manuscript Ms. 33 (88.MP.70), fol. 214v, Getty Center, Los Angeles.

The saying “the writing on the wall” comes directly from this dramatic moment in the Book of Daniel. In Dutch: een teken aan de wand.

The phrase “weighed and found wanting,” meaning “evaluated (weighed) and found to be lacking,” also comes from this same passage — the mysterious words Mene Mene Tekel Upharsin. In Dutch: gewogen en te licht bevonden.

Daniel and the Four Beasts

Daniel’s vision of the Four Beasts, with the Archangel Gabriel explaining (1599), Hieronymus Wierix (1553 - 1619), Engraving, 19x26cm, British Museum, London.
Daniel’s vision of the Four Beasts, with the Archangel Gabriel explaining (1599), Hieronymus Wierix (1553 – 1619), Engraving, 19x26cm, British Museum, London.

Now to one of Daniel’s own dreams, in which he sees four strange beasts rising from a stormy sea. Disturbed by the vision, Daniel asks an angel to help him understand what it means. The angel explains that the four beasts represent four successive empires: the lion with eagle’s wings is often interpreted as Babylon, the bear as the Medo-Persian Empire, the leopard with four wings as Greece under Alexander the Great, and the final terrifying beast with iron teeth and ten horns as the Roman Empire.

Even the most fearsome of these, the monstrous last beast representing the Roman Empire, is destined to fall. Once again, the message is clear: no kingdom lasts forever.

This is a warning to rulers to govern with humility, not through violence or intimidation like the beasts of the vision, which rule with claws and teeth.

Daniel’s vision of the The Four Beasts (c.1050), detail, ilustration from the manuscript Beatus a Liebana, Commentarius in Apocalypsin (The Saint-Sever Beatus, also known as the Apocalypse of Saint-Sever), MS lat. 8878 folio 51r, Parchement, 37x29cm, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris.
Daniel’s vision of the The Four Beasts (c.1050), detail, ilustration from the manuscript Beatus a Liebana, Commentarius in Apocalypsin (The Saint-Sever Beatus, also known as the Apocalypse of Saint-Sever), MS lat. 8878 folio 51r, Parchement, 37x29cm, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris.

Daniel in the Lions’ Den

Daniel’s next adventure, and perhaps the most well-known, is his stay in the lions’ den. Rubens’s powerful painting in the National Gallery in Washington brings this dramatic moment to life with vivid realism.

Daniel in the Lions' Den (c.1614), Peter Paul Rubens (1577 – 1640), Oil on canvas, 224x331cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington.
Daniel in the Lions’ Den (c.1614), Peter Paul Rubens (1577 – 1640), Oil on canvas, 224x331cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington.

So what happened? Daniel had become a favored advisor at the court of King Darius (or Cyrus, depending on the source), the Persian ruler who succeeded the Babylonians. But jealous rivals plotted against him. They tricked the king into issuing a decree that, for thirty days, no one could pray to any god or person except to King Darius himself. Anyone who disobeyed would be thrown to the lions. Devout as ever, Daniel continued to pray to his own God, the God of Israel. Though Darius admired Daniel and regretted the trap he had fallen into, he was bound by the law of the Medes and Persians, which could not be changed.

Daniel getting food from Habakkuk, who is held by an angel by his hair (c.1470), illustratiuon from Speculum humanae salvationis, MS 89, f. 029 - vue 1, Parchement, Bibliothèque l'Alcazar de Marseille, France.
Daniel getting food from Habakkuk, who is held by an angel by his hair (c.1470), illustratiuon from Speculum humanae salvationis, MS 89, f. 029 – vue 1, Parchement, Bibliothèque l’Alcazar de Marseille, France.

Daniel was thrown into the lions’ den. He kept praying, and help came in the form of the prophet Habakkuk, who was miraculously transported to Daniel with food – carried by an angel who lifted him by his hair (see the manuscript illustrations, and the engraving hereunder).

Daniel in the Lions’ Den and Habakkuk bringing food, nr 8-10 from the series: The story of Daniel, Bel and the Dragon (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 - 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 - 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Daniel sits amongst the lions in a cave and looks up at an angel swooping in and carrying Habakuk by the hair; food delivery!
Daniel in the Lions’ Den and Habakkuk bringing food, nr 8-10 from the series: The story of Daniel and Bel (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 – 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 – 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Daniel getting food from Habakkuk, who is held by an angel by his hair (c.1109), illustration from the Silos Apocalypse, Add. 11695, ff.238v-239, Parchement, British Library, London.
I think this is a great illustration of the story: Daniel between two lions who are licking his feet, like dogs would do, they are harmless towards Daniel. And the angel transports Habakkuk through the air to get Daniel some food.
Daniel getting food from Habakkuk, who is held by an angel by his hair (c.1109), illustration from the Silos Apocalypse, Add. 11695, ff.238v-239, Parchement, British Library, London.

After a week, Darius had the den opened, and to everyone’s astonishment, Daniel was still alive and unharmed. The king rejoiced, and justice was swiftly served: Daniel’s accusers were thrown into the lions’ den in his place.

Daniel is pulled out of the Lions' Den, nr 9-10 from the series: The story of Daniel, Bel and the Dragon (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 - 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 - 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Daniel is pulled out of the Lions’ Den, nr 9-10 from the series: The story of Daniel and Bel (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 – 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 – 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

The moral? However hard the trial, and however hopeless the outcome may seem, faith and perseverance can lead to a just resolution. For Daniel, this meant both survival and vindication. The story remains a symbol of hope and courage. In modern terms: even when those in power make life miserable, keep your faith and hold your head high. A day of justice will come.

Cyrus has Daniel's accusers thrown into the Lions' Den, nr 10-10 from the series: The story of Daniel, Bel and the Dragon (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 - 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 - 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Darius has Daniel’s accusers thrown into the Lions’ Den, nr 10-10 from the series: The story of Daniel and Bel (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 – 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 – 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

The phrase “a law of the Medes and Persians” survives to this day, describing a rule that cannot be changed, no matter how inconvenient or unjust.

Susanna and the Elders, and Daniel’s judgment

The elders spying upon Susanna (c.1506), Lucas van Leyden (1494 - 1533), Engraving, 20x15cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
The elders spying upon Susanna (c.1506), Lucas van Leyden (1494 – 1533), Engraving, 20x15cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

Now we turn to Susan and the Elders, which story remains startlingly relevant today. At its heart is a woman wrongly accused by two powerful men after she refuses their sexual advances. Her integrity is put on trial, her word weighed against that of respected elders. Yet she does not give in. Susanna chooses to speak, knowing the cost. It is a story of courage, the abuse of power, and ultimately, of justice, thanks to the young Daniel, who intervenes with clarity and moral insight. By cross-examining the two elders separately, Daniel uncovers their lies: each gives a contradictory account of the scene, revealing their falsehood and exposing their guilt. The story concludes with Susanna’s vindication and the elders’ downfall.

Susanna and the Elders (1647), Rembrandt van Rijn (1606 - 1669), Oil on panel, 77x93cm, Gemäldegalerie, Berlin.
Susanna and the Elders (1647), Rembrandt van Rijn (1606 – 1669), Oil on panel, 77x93cm, Gemäldegalerie, Berlin.

In the story, after Susanna refused their sexual advances, the elders sought revenge by claiming they had caught her committing adultery with a young man in her garden. According to the law at the time, adultery was punishable by death, and the testimony of two respected elders carried great weight. Their accusation was intended to destroy her reputation and life, but Daniel’s intervention ultimately revealed the truth and saved her.

Centuries later, this story continued to inspire artists, particularly in the Baroque period. Rembrandt’s Susanna and the Elders (1647), housed in the Gemäldegalerie in Berlin, captures a moment of vulnerability and fear. In contrast, Artemisia Gentileschi’s Susanna and the Elders (c.1610) is strikingly defiant. Painted when she was only seventeen, Artemisia – herself a survivor of sexual violence – transforms Susanna into a figure of resistance. Today, her version speaks with particular force, not only because of its raw visual intensity, but because the artist’s own trauma echoes through her entire oeuvre.

Susanna and the Elders (c.1610), Artemisia Gentileschi (1593 - 1653), Oil on canvas, 170x119cm, Collection Schloss Weissenstein, Pommersfelden Germany, currently on view in Musée Jacquemart-André (untill 3 August 2025), Paris.
Susanna and the Elders (c.1610), Artemisia Gentileschi (1593 – 1653), Oil on canvas, 170x119cm, Collection Schloss Weissenstein, Pommersfelden Germany, currently on view in Musée Jacquemart-André (untill 3 August 2025), Paris.

In the context of the MeToo movement, the story of Susanna feels painfully modern. A woman is cornered, threatened, and disbelieved by those in power. Yet she refuses to yield. With Daniel’s intervention, truth is reclaimed and the false accusers are unmasked. This ancient tale becomes, in today’s terms, a parable of resistance and the enduring hope for justice, even against overwhelming odds.

Yet we must also look critically at how this story has been visualized, especially in the Baroque era. For many male artists, including Rubens and Rembrandt, Susanna and the Elders became a pretext for painting the nude female body under the guise of a biblical subject. Susanna is often shown at her most vulnerable, surprised in the bath, exposed not only to the leering elders but also to us, the viewers. This dynamic implicates the audience, making us – consciously or not – silent participants. From a contemporary perspective, especially in light of #MeToo, we must ask: are we seeing Susanna through the eyes of Daniel, or through the eyes of the elders?

Susanna and the Elders (c.1610), Peter Paul Rubens (1577 - 1640), Oil on panel, 190x223cm, Royal Academy of Fine Arts of San Fernando, Madrid.
Susanna and the Elders (c.1610), Peter Paul Rubens (1577 – 1640), Oil on panel, 190x223cm, Royal Academy of Fine Arts of San Fernando, Madrid.

Daniel urges us to shift our perspective, from complicity to conscience. When we look at these artworks, we are invited not just to witness injustice, but to side with justice. Daniel’s judgment is not merely a narrative turning point, it is a call to the viewer: to recognize the abuse of power, to listen to the vulnerable, and to believe that justice, though often delayed, will prevail.

Daniel’s jugement (c.1621), Valentin de Boulogne (1591 - 1632), Oil on canvas, 175x211cm, Louvre, Paris.
Daniel’s jugement (c.1621), Valentin de Boulogne (1591 – 1632), Oil on canvas, 175x211cm, Louvre, Paris.
Susanna accused of adultery, from The Story of Susanna (1555), Heinrich Aldegrever (c.1502 - 1561), Engraving, 12x8cm), Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
Susanna accused of adultery, from The Story of Susanna (1555), Heinrich Aldegrever (c.1502 – 1561), Engraving, 12x8cm), Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Daniel exposed the elders by separating them and asking each under which tree they had seen Susanna commit the alleged act. One claimed it was under a small mastic tree, the other said it was a big oak. Their conflicting answers revealed their lie, proving that their accusations were false and leading to Susanna’s vindication and the elders’ punishment, which was quite harsh in the days of Daniel, but also in the days when these engravings were made.

Daniel cross-examining the Elders, from The Story of Susanna (1555), Heinrich Aldegrever (c.1502 - 1561), Engraving, 12x8cm), Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
The stoning of the Elders, from The Story of Susanna (1555), Heinrich Aldegrever (c.1502 - 1561), Engraving, 12x8cm), Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
Daniel cross-examining the Elders (left) and The stoning of the Elders (right), from The Story of Susanna (1555), Heinrich Aldegrever (c.1502 – 1561), Engraving, each 12x8cm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Daniel exposes the corruption of the priests of Bel

The next one is  how Daniel exposes the corruption of the priests of Bel, one of the gods (or idols) in the land of king Darius (or Cyrus, depending on the source of the story). It’s a lesser-known but sharp story about uncovering corruption.

Daniel and Cyrus before the idol Bel (1633), Rembrandt van Rijn (1606 - 1669), Oil on panel, 24x30cm, Getty Center, Los Angeles.
In this scene, King Cyrus of Persia, at the center, questions Daniel about his refusal to worship the god Bel, whose statue looms in shadow on the right, you can see the legs of the big statue. Cyrus insists Bel is a living deity, pointing to the daily offerings of food and wine that mysteriously vanish each night. Daniel calmly replies that bronze statues do not eat. The story takes a playful turn, this powerful king believes the idol consumes the offerings! But Daniel is about to expose the truth. What really happens to the food and wine? The answer reveals not just a trick, but a deeper tale of fraud, corruption, and the courage to speak truth to power.
Daniel and Cyrus before the idol Bel (1633), Rembrandt van Rijn (1606 – 1669), Oil on panel, 24x30cm, Getty Center, Los Angeles.

In Babylon, there was a magnificent temple dedicated to the god Bel (or Baal), where the people believed the statue of the god consumed great daily offerings of food and wine. Every day the people offered the most tasteful dishes and the most wonderful wines. And next day the food and wine was always gone. King Cyrus was a devout believer and asked Daniel why he did not worship Bel like everyone else. Daniel replied that Bel was only a statue made by human hands and that it could not eat or drink. To prove otherwise, the king challenged Daniel: if the food was indeed not eaten by Bel, the priests would be executed. But if Bel had eaten it, Daniel would be punished.

King Cyrus shows Daniel the statue of the god Bel, nr 2-10 from the series: The story of Daniel, Bel and the Dragon (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 - 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 - 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
The king shows Daniel the temple of the god Bel. In the middle of the temple is a large statue of the seated god. Servants are busy displaying food and drink on a table in front of the statue.
King Cyrus shows Daniel the statue of the god Bel, nr 2-10 from the series: The story of Daniel and Bel (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 – 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 – 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

That night, the king sealed the temple doors after the offerings were placed inside. But Daniel had secretly scattered ashes on the temple floor. Next morning, the food was gone, yet the floor revealed footprints leading to a hidden door under the altar tabel and a secret entrance in the corner of the temple. It turned out the priests and their families had been sneaking in at night to eat the offerings themselves. The king, shocked at the deception, had the false priests removed, and the temple of Bel was destroyed.

Hereunder four engravings that tell the story in a comic-book style.

Daniel strewing ashes in the temple and Cyrus sealing the door, nr 3-10 from the series: The story of Daniel, Bel and the Dragon (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 - 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 - 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
To prove that it is not the statue of the god Bel who eats the food, but the priests, Daniel scatters ashes on the floor of the temple. King Cyrus has the door of the temple sealed so that no one can enter unnoticed.
Daniel strewing ashes in the temple and Cyrus sealing the door, nr 3-10 from the series: The story of Daniel and Bel (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 – 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 – 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
The priests and their families eat the food for Bel at night, nr 4-10 from the series: The story of Daniel, Bel and the Dragon (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 - 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 - 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
The priests and their wives and children enter the temple at night through secret doors and eat the food that is on the table for the god Bel. As they secretly take the food, their footprints are left in the ashes scattered on the ground by Daniel.
The priests and their families eat the food for Bel at night, nr 4-10 from the series: The story of Daniel and Bel (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 – 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 – 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Daniel revealing the fraud of Bel's priests, nr 5-10 from the series: The story of Daniel, Bel and the Dragon (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 - 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 - 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
King Cyrus and Daniel come to the temple in the morning and see footprints in the ashes that Daniel has scattered on the floor. They discover the secret entrance to the temple, through which the priests and their families have entered to eat Bel’s food.
Daniel revealing the fraud of Bel’s priests, nr 5-10 from the series: The story of Daniel and Bel (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 – 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 – 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
King Cyrus smashes the statue of Bel to pieces, nr 6-10 from the series: The story of Daniel, Bel and the Dragon (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 - 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 - 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
King Cyrus watches men smash the statue of the god Bel to pieces. On the spot where the table with food used to be, the entrance to the secret entrance to the temple can now be seen. In the front right, a boy pees in Bel’s mouth.
King Cyrus smashes the statue of Bel to pieces, nr 6-10 from the series: The story of Daniel and Bel (1565), Engraving by Print Philips Galle (1537 – 1612) after design by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498 – 1574), 20x24cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

The lesson, also for today in our own time and place! Even the most sacred institutions can be corrupted from within. Daniel’s calm wisdom once again uncovers the truth. Faith and trust, combined with reason, has the power to expose lies and uphold justice.

Closing remarks

A note on the Book of Daniel and the Bible in general. Many people do not realize that the Catholic and Protestant Bibles are not exactly the same. The stories of Daniel exposing the corruption of the priests of Bel, his intervention in the case of Susanna and the Elders, and Habbakuk delivering food when Daniel is in the lions’ den, are perfect examples of this difference. These stories are part of the so-called “Additions to Daniel,” which are included in the Catholic Bible but not in the Hebrew Bible and not in the Protestant Old Testament. In most Protestant traditions, they are considered apocryphal, meaning additional or non-canonical. So depending on which Bible you are reading, you might or might not find these stories at all.

A moral remark as final closing: What can we take from Daniel’s stories today? Perhaps this: all empires, whether Babylonian, Persian, Greek, Roman, or others from Daniel’s time to our own, no matter how powerful, eventually collapse under the weight of their own excess. Any leader who overreaches, who rules with arrogance or deception, is destined to share in that downfall. The stories in Daniel’s book reveal a pattern. When power is worshipped for its own sake, it corrupts systems, turning them into something beastly, inhumane, and blind to truth. Daniel also teaches patience. Injustice and oppression do not end quickly, but they do end. In time, those who do harm, whether by abusing power or silencing the innocent, will face their reckoning. And on a more personal level, Daniel shows us what it means to live with integrity in unfamiliar circumstances, to hold your head high and trust in justice, even when you are in exile or a stranger in a strange land.

Bonus

I can’t resist adding a little bonus here, partly because this scene is so full of drama, and partly because it features two remarkable statues by my favourite sculptor Bernini, in the Chigi Chapel in Rome.

Daniel and the Lion (c.1655), Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598 – 1680), Marble, 170cm, Chigi Chapel, Basilica of Santa Maria del Popolo, Rome.
Habakkuk and the Angel (c.1655), Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598 – 1680), Marble, 170cm, Chigi Chapel, Basilica of Santa Maria del Popolo, Rome.
Daniel in the lions’ den (left) and Habakkuk and the angle (right), both c.1655, Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598 – 1680), Marble, 170cm, Chigi Chapel, Basilica of Santa Maria del Popolo, Rome.

One statue shows Daniel in the lions’ den, praying to God. A lion is at his feet, even licking one of them, emphasizing Daniel’s divine protection. Across from him, in a niche on the opposite side of the chapel, we see the prophet Habakkuk. He’s seated on a rock, his lunch basket beside him, pointing in the direction he wants to go. But the angel has other plans! Leaning out of the niche, the angel lifts Habakkuk by the hair and points decisively toward Daniel, guiding him to bring food to the imprisoned prophet. Bernini composed these two figures as part of a larger program within the Chigi Chapel, connecting them visually and theologically. It’s a sculptural narrative drawn from from the apocryphal additions to the Book of Daniel.

Here’s the full passage featuring Habakkuk and the miraculous food delivery. Read and enjoy!

Daniel 14:33-39

Now the prophet Habakkuk was in Judea; he had made a stew and had broken bread into a bowl, and was going into the field to take it to the reapers. But the angel of the Lord said to Habakkuk, “Take the food that you have to Babylon, to Daniel, in the lions’ den.” Habakkuk said, “Sir, I have never seen Babylon, and I know nothing about the den.” Then the angel of the Lord took him by the crown of his head and carried him by his hair; with the speed of the wind he set him down in Babylon, right over the den.

Then Habakkuk shouted, “Daniel, Daniel! Take the food that God has sent you.” Daniel said, “You have remembered me, O God, and have not forsaken those who love you.” So Daniel got up and ate. And the angel of God immediately returned Habakkuk to his own place.