There is no way demonstrate who the prince is in 26b based on grammar or context.
Please consider the following narrative:
Part 1 of 2
Reflective narrative:
"From Stones to the Savior: Why God Separated the Arrival and Death of the Messiah"
In the “restorative verse” of Daniel 9:25, God traces the timeline to the arrival of the Anointed One with striking precision: seven weeks and sixty-two weeks — sixty-nine weeks of years from the decree to restore and rebuild Jerusalem. The division is deliberate. The first seven weeks (49 years) mark the era of rebuilding — when stones were set, walls were raised, the Temple was restored, and civic life resumed. It was a season of visible renewal. Jerusalem stood again. Hope began to rise.
Then come the sixty-two weeks (434 years), stretching forward in long expectation. These were not years of construction, but years of anticipation — seasons shaped by foreign rule, prophetic silence, and covenant longing. The city had been restored, yet the greater promise remained ahead. The structure stood, but the true restoration had not yet come. But when we move into Daniel 9:26, the language shifts. The Messiah is said to be “cut off after the sixty-two weeks.” Not after the full sixty-nine. Not “after the seven and sixty-two.” After the sixty-two.
This precision is not accidental. By isolating the sixty-two weeks in connection with His death, the prophecy intentionally separates the rebuilding era from the redemptive climax. The seven weeks belong to stone and mortar. The sixty-two weeks carry us to the appearance and mission of the Messiah. And “after” those sixty-two weeks, He is cut off.
In this structure, the cutting off does not belong to some distant, disconnected era. It flows directly out of the same continuous timeline that began with the decree to rebuild Jerusalem. There is no textual signal of interruption, postponement, or chronological leap. The Messiah’s death stands within the prophecy’s unfolding sequence — not separated from it by centuries, but emerging naturally from it. In this way, God ensures that we do not confuse restoration of infrastructure with restoration of humanity. The first rebuilding was architectural. The second was sacrificial. Jerusalem’s walls were restored in the first seven weeks. But the true Temple — the Living Temple — would be cut off in the next era.
The prophecy quietly reframes what desolation truly means. It is not first about collapsing stones. It is about the cutting off of the Anointed One. The greater desolation is not a broken city — it is a rejected Messiah. And the greater restoration is not repaired gates — it is a crucified and risen Savior. Thus, Daniel honors both movements without blending them. The rebuilding of Jerusalem was real and necessary. It prepared the stage. But it was never the climax. The city stood so that the Messiah could come. And when He came, the focus shifted from walls to wounds.
God separated the arrival and the death of the Messiah in the prophecy so that we would not mistake the survival of buildings for the salvation of souls. The restoration of stones was temporary. The redemption accomplished by the Savior is eternal. And the timeline of Daniel 9 unfolds as a single, purposeful arc — moving steadily from decree, to rebuilding, to Messiah, to cross — without fracture, without deferral, and without the need for reinsertion at the end of history.
And the people of the prince who is to come
This brief yet weighty phrase— “the people of the prince who is to come”—has sparked intense debate and diverging interpretations for centuries.
The identity of this mysterious “prince” has become one of the most contested topics in all of eschatology. Much hinges on how one interprets not only who this prince is, but also when he comes and which people belong to him. Broadly speaking, interpreters tend to link this phrase to one of three historical or prophetic contexts, each tied to a specific Temple era:
One view identifies the “people” as the Roman legions who destroyed Jerusalem under the command of General Titus. In this interpretation, Titus is the “prince who is to come,” and the prophecy is seen as fulfilled after the death and resurrection of Jesus in 70 AD.
Some scholars connect the prophecy to the Syrian ruler Antiochus Epiphanes, who desecrated the second Temple during the intertestamental period. In this view, the “prince” refers to a foreign oppressor or local antagonist who attacked the city and Sanctuary during the tumultuous years after the Babylonian exile. However, this interpretation does not align with the seventy-weeks’ timeline or the appearance of the Messiah and thus creates inconsistencies with the prophecy’s structure.
The most widely held view in modern dispensationalist circles projects this prophecy into the future, assigning it to a rebuilt third Temple in Jerusalem. Here, the “prince” is often understood to be this mythical antichrist, who will supposedly make a covenant with Israel, break it mid-week, and then desecrate the Temple, initiating a terrible tribulation period. In this model, the “people” are his followers or military forces, expected to carry out destruction during the end times. This third view, though popular, requires a 2,000-year gap between the 69th and 70th weeks—disrupting the prophetic sequence and detaching the passage from the context of Christ's first coming. Moreover, it relies on speculation about a future Temple not mentioned in Daniel 9, and inserts into the text a future figure that Gabriel never names. This is the product of the futurist interpretation authored by the Jesuit priest, Ribera.
Many interpretations of Daniel 9:26 begin by choosing a Temple and a time period, then assigning an identity to “a prince,” and finally deciding who “his people” must be. But is that the best method?
What if there is a more faithful path—one that begins not with external speculation, but with the inspired structure of the chapter itself? Daniel 9 gives us internal clues. Across the chapter there are
five occurrences across four reference-types involving “prince” language (and one crucial moment where the title is deliberately withheld). If we follow how Daniel and Gabriel use these terms—and pay attention to the subtle shifts between the restorative and destructive verses—we can approach the identity of “the prince who is to come” with greater textual discipline, rather than beginning with military history or end-time theories.
1) Generic “Princes” — Daniel 9:6 and 9:8
The first two references appear in Daniel’s confession:
“neither have we heeded your servants the prophets, who spoke in your name to our kings and our princes…” (v.6)
“o lord, to us belongs shame of face, to our kings, our princes, and our fathers…” (v.8)
These are generic references to Israel’s leaders who failed to listen to God’s prophets. Importantly, the prophetic title
nagiyd is not used here. Daniel is not identifying a foretold figure; he is confessing the guilt of Israel’s historical leadership.
2) “Messiah the Prince” — Daniel 9:25
Then the prophecy turns, and a different kind of “prince” appears:
"until messiah the prince, there shall be seven weeks and sixty-two weeks…” (v.25)
Here “Messiah” is joined to “Prince,” and the Hebrew title
nagiyd is used. This is no ordinary ruler. This is a divinely appointed figure—the Anointed One. In the restorative verse, Gabriel speaks with clarity and honor:
Jerusalem is named, and the Messiah is presented with a royal title. The city is identified. The Messiah is enthroned in the wording. The prophecy is moving toward restoration and arrival. The structure is deliberate: the first seven weeks highlight rebuilding and restoration; the sixty-two that follow carry Israel forward in expectation until the arrival of the Messiah at the appointed time.
