I Will Praise the Lord of Wisdom

This is the most profound theological poem of the ancient Near East. Written in Standard Babylonian Akkadian around the 11th or 10th century BCE, it tells the story of Shubshi-meshre-Shakkan — a Babylonian nobleman who suffers catastrophic loss, abandonment by his god, betrayal by his friends, and devastating illness — and who is ultimately restored through the mercy of Marduk, lord of the gods. It is often called "the Babylonian Job" for its unflinching confrontation with the question that haunts every religious tradition: why do the righteous suffer?

The poem survives on four clay tablets of approximately 120 lines each. Over four dozen tablets and fragments preserve the text, from sites across Mesopotamia — Nineveh, Sippar, Nimrud, Babylon, and beyond — making it one of the most widely copied literary works of the ancient world. Its title comes from the opening line: ludlul bēl nēmeqi, "I will praise the lord of wisdom."

Unlike the biblical Book of Job, which culminates in God's direct self-revelation from the whirlwind, the Ludlul resolves through dream-visions — three supernatural visitors who announce Marduk's mercy and perform ritual cleansing. The sufferer never receives an explanation for his suffering. He receives something more characteristically Mesopotamian: restoration. The poem's philosophical core is not a theodicy but a concession: the gods are inscrutable, human understanding cannot reach their counsel, but Marduk's mercy is real, and he raises those he has broken.

No free English translation of the complete poem has been available. The standard scholarly editions — Lambert's Babylonian Wisdom Literature (1960), Foster's Before the Muses (2005), and Annus and Lenzi's critical edition (2010) — are locked behind academic paywalls. This translation is produced independently from the Akkadian by the New Tianmu Anglican Church with AI assistance.

Tablet I

I will praise the lord of wisdom, the deliberate god —
furious through the night, forgiving at dawn.
Marduk, lord of wisdom, the deliberate god —
furious through the night, forgiving at dawn.

His rage, like a storm that scours the steppe —
his breath, like morning wind, is sweet.
His anger irresistible, his fury a flood —
yet his heart is merciful, his mood turns.

He whose hand the heavens cannot hold,
whose gentle palm rescues the dying.
Marduk — he whose hand the heavens cannot hold,
whose gentle palm rescues the dying.

At his fury, graves are torn open —
from ruin, he raises the fallen.

He frowns — the guardian spirits retreat.
He looks — and the god turns back to the one he cast off.

His punishment falls swift and heavy —
in an instant he turns, a mother.
He hastens to show his beloved kindness,
as a cow keeps turning back for her calf.

His blows are barbed — they pierce to the bone.
His bandages soothe — they heal the one death took.

He speaks — and imputes sin.
On the day of his justice, debt and guilt dissolve.

He himself sends the shivering demon —
with his word, he banishes frost and trembling.

Who dims the flood of Adad, the blow of Erra —
who reconciles the angry god and goddess.

The Lord reads the heart of every god —
no god knows his way.
Marduk reads the heart of every god —
no god can learn his counsel.

As heavy as his hand is, his heart is merciful.
As lethal as his weapons are, his purpose is to sustain.
Without his will, who can soothe his striking?
Without his intent, who can hold back his hand?

I who ate mud like a fish will proclaim his fury —
for swiftly he restored me as he restores the dead.
I will teach the people: his mercy draws near.
May his gracious concern carry away their sin.

From the day the lord punished me,
from the time the hero grew angry with me —
my god threw me off and vanished.
My goddess broke rank and withdrew.

The guardian spirit who walked at my side departed.
My protecting shade was stripped away and given to a stranger.
My vigor drained. My features darkened.
My dignity fled my body and leapt the wall.

Good omens abandoned me.
Evil omens assailed me daily.
The diviner could not determine my condition.
The dream-interpreter with his incense could not clarify my case.

I pleaded with the spirit-medium — she could not open my ear.
The exorcist and his rites could not undo the sentence upon me.
How strange the ways of the world have become!

I looked behind me — persecution and trouble.
As one who had not poured libations to his god,
who did not invoke the goddess at the meal,
who did not bow his face or show his submission,
from whose mouth prayer and supplication had vanished,
who had abandoned the day of the god and neglected the festival,
who grew slack and scorned the rites,
who did not teach his people reverence and worship,
who failed to call upon his god and ate the god's food heedlessly,
who neglected his goddess and brought her no offering,
who forgot his lord and swore false oaths by his god —
like such a man I was treated.

But I myself gave thought to prayer and supplication.
Prayer was my concern, sacrifice my discipline.
The day of the goddess's procession was my profit and my gain.
The king's prayer was my delight,
the music of worship, my joy.

I instructed my people to honor the name of god.
I taught my household to revere the goddess.
I magnified the king's praise to the station of a god.
I drilled respect for the palace into the people.
I thought that such things were pleasing to god.

But what is proper to oneself is an offense to one's god.
What in one's own heart seems contemptible is proper to one's god.
Who can know the counsel of the gods in heaven?
The plan of a god — who can understand it?
How can mortals learn the way of a god?

He who was alive yesterday is dead today.
In an instant he is cast into grief, suddenly he is crushed.
One moment he sings and plays —
in the blink of an eye, he wails like a mourner.

Their condition changes like opening and shutting the legs.
When they are hungry, they lie like corpses.
When they are sated, they rival their god.
In good times they speak of scaling heaven.
In trouble they grumble about going down to the dead.

I am bewildered by these things. I cannot grasp their meaning.

As for me — my lord treated me harshly.
The month turned to me its hostile face.
The year adopted against me its evil course.

My courtier plotted mischief against me before the king.
He whispered slander, one after the other.
The first spoke ill of me — the second took it up.
My slanderer schemed against me day and night.

My friend became a stranger.
My companion turned savage and demonic.
My comrade denounced me with fury.
My colleague sharpened his weapons ceaselessly.

My close friend brought my life into danger.
My slave cursed me openly in the assembly.
My slave-woman defamed me before the crowd.
My acquaintance, on seeing me, turned his face aside.
My family treated me as one not of their blood.

Tablet II

He has cast me into the dark.
As if I were a dead man, he has thrust me into the shadows.

I called to my god — he did not show his face.
I prayed to my goddess — she did not raise her head.
The diviner and his extispicy could not see my future.
The dream-interpreter and his libation could not illuminate my case.

I turned to the necromancer — she gave me no sign.
The exorcist and his ritual could not release the anger upon me.
What strange conditions exist in the world!

An evil demon has come forth from its lair.
From the Foundation of heaven a headache descended upon me.
From the Apsu-deep a cough rose up to grip me.
From the entrance of the Underworld a racking cramp arose.
From the flood-waters of the ocean, a wasting disease swept over me.
From the earth itself, weakness fell upon my body.

A malignant wind-blast struck at my back.
A deadly cough settled in my chest.
It seized my body like a net.
My eyes stare — but they do not see.
My ears are open — but they do not hear.

Weakness seized my whole frame.
A stroke fell upon my flesh.
Stiffness gripped my arms.
Feebleness descended into my knees.
I forgot how to walk.
My body lost the use of its limbs.

Disease consumed my whole frame.
It hammered my tall body, brought it low.
I tilted over like a tall reed in a storm.
I was laid flat, pressed like a water-plant.

Thrown on my side, I could not right myself.
My bed became my prison.
I lay in my own excrement like an ox.
I was caked in my own filth like a sheep.

The exorcist shrank from my symptoms.
The diviner was confounded by my omens.

My limbs were dislocated, wrenched apart.
I spent the night in my own waste, sprawled on the ground.
The joints of my body were unstrung.
My muscles were inflamed.

My god did not come to my rescue — he did not take my hand.
My goddess showed me no pity — she did not walk at my side.
The grave was open, my funeral goods prepared.
Before I was even dead, the mourning had begun.

My whole land said, "How he is crushed!"
My enemy heard — and his face brightened.
They carried the good news to my malicious woman —
and her spirits soared.

The day grew dark for my whole family.
For all who knew me, it was as if the sun had set.

My flesh wasted away. My blood ran thin.
My bones came apart — they no longer held together.
My muscles shriveled. My frame dissolved.

I took to my bed — I could not rise.
I stayed in the house — I could not go out.
My house became my tomb.

My arms were bound as if in fetters of bronze.
My feet were cast in stocks.
My knees were rigid — I could not bend them.
My stride was broken — I could not walk.

A stroke had gripped me. I was struck flat.
Agony pressed me down. It would not lift.

My eyes were crusted — I could not open them.
My ears were blocked — they whistled and rang.
Trembling seized my whole body.
Numbness crept across my face.
My jaw locked. My tongue was stilled.

[...a number of lines are fragmentary here...]

The diviner examined me but could not read my sign.
The exorcist performed his rites — he could not undo the curse.

What strange things the god has done to me!
Though I am reverent, though I keep the rites — I am afflicted.
Disease has reached my very door.
Death has crossed my threshold.
If I could open my mouth, I would say to my god:
"I who served you — why have you treated me so?"

Tablet III

His hand was heavy upon me. I could not bear it.
My terror of him was overpowering. It [...].

[...the opening lines of Tablet III are damaged...]

In the middle of the night, my prayers went up.
In the vision of the night, my heart was calmed.

A dream came to me.
In the dream — a remarkable young man
of extraordinary stature, magnificent in bearing.
He was wrapped in new garments, clothed in radiance.
He entered my presence and stood above me.

"Be delivered!" he said.
"He who sent me — Marduk, the merciful —
has taken pity on you."
He poured pure water over my body.
He spoke the word of life.
He rubbed my body with the soothing oil.

I woke. The vision passed. But the comfort remained.

A second time, sleep fell upon me.
And I dreamed a second dream.

In the dream — a purification priest,
a mašmašu clad in ritual dress,
carrying tamarisk, the pure wood,
carrying the soap-plant of cleansing.

He poured lustral water.
He spoke the incantation of Ea, lord of the deep.
He touched my body and performed the rite.
He invoked Marduk:

"Let this man live!
Until the lord who threw him down restores him —
until the goddess who was angry shows him mercy —
let the sin he has done be dissolved,
let his transgression be removed,
let his offense be wiped away like a morning mist."

A third time, sleep came upon me.
And in the night, a vision.

A young woman appeared —
of beautiful bearing, adorned like a queen.
She was radiant. She shone like a god.

She said: "Be delivered.
Marduk has sent me to you.
I carry abundance from Esagila.
I carry mercy from the lord of lords."

She bore a vessel. She poured out life.
She spoke a blessing. She scattered fortune.

I woke. My sickness was broken.

Where the disease had bound me — the bond was loosed.
After the illness had exhausted me — I recovered.
After depression had crushed me — I rose.
After weeping had gripped me — I sang.

The heavy burden was lifted — the yoke unfastened.
The darkness that covered my eyes was swept away.
My blocked ears were cleared as though by running water.
My nose, which was choked with phlegm — its passage opened.
My lips, which were sealed and crusted — their crust fell away.

My mouth, which was silenced — its bond was broken.
My feet, which were fettered — their fetters dissolved.
My knees, which were rigid as stone — their knot was undone.

The illness departed every part of me.
My whole body, which had worn the garment of ruin —
the garment was stripped away.

The darkness that had settled over me lifted
and light entered where light had not been.

Tablet IV

[...the opening of Tablet IV is partially damaged...]

After Marduk had wept over me,
after the lord had said, "Enough!" —

The ailment receded. The disease withdrew.
The headache that gripped me was driven off.
The tightness in my chest was relieved.
The fever that burned me was quenched.

My dimmed eyes recovered their sight.
My blocked ears heard again.
My nose, stopped up, breathed freely.
My parched lips found moisture.

Those who had seen my misfortune came from far away.
My friends who had witnessed my ruin drew near again.

He who had dug my grave — his face fell.
He who had prepared my shroud was put to shame.
She who had rejoiced over me was filled with dread.
He who had carried the good news of my death was humbled.

My god forgave my sin.
My goddess was reconciled with me.

To the house of Marduk — to Esagila — I went in procession.
Through the gate "One Who Lifts the Prostrated" I entered —
and my prostration was lifted.

Through the gate "The Bowed-Down Find Relief" I passed —
and my bowing-down was relieved.

Through the gate "Life for the One Who Comes Straight" I walked —
and my life was given back.

Through the gate "The Sun Has Risen upon Him" I emerged —
and I was counted among the living.

Through the gate "His Sign Is Favorable" I advanced —
and my sign became favorable.

Through the gate "One Who Gains Merit" I crossed —
and I accumulated merit.

Through the gate "His Radiance Is Restored" I was bathed in light —
and my radiance was restored.

Through the gate "The Bull Who Trampled the Enemy" I stood upright —
and my enemies were trampled.

Through the gate "The Angry Goddess Turned Back" I passed through —
and my goddess turned back to me.

Through the gate "His Mouth Is Prayer" I spoke —
and my mouth was full of prayer.

Through the gate "The One Who Goes Forth Shall Live" I came out —
and I lived.

Before Marduk I prostrated myself. I kissed the ground.
Before Zarpanitu I bowed. I prayed.
I set up incense. I presented my offerings.

I slaughtered fat bulls. I butchered choice cattle.
I poured honey-sweet beer in abundance.
I made libation of choice wine, the blood of the vine —
wine for the lord and the lady, the gods of my city.

[...several lines fragmentary...]

The people of Babylon gathered and marveled.
All who had known my suffering came to see.

"How Marduk has treated him well!
Who would not have said he was finished?
Who would not have said, 'He is done for'?
Where among the dead was there one like him?
From what sickness has he been raised?
Into what suffering had he been cast?"

Sixty-five months he bore the fury.
The day of his suffering came to its end.
The wrath of Marduk — it does not last forever.

After the storm, the sun.
After the darkness, light.
After the fury, mercy.

I will proclaim the greatness of Marduk to the people.
Let those who hear it praise his name.
Let all the world know —

His hand is heavy, but his heart is merciful.
He wounds, but he binds.
He casts down, but he raises up.
He brings near to death, but he gives life.

Marduk — I will praise the lord of wisdom.

Colophon

Source text: Standard Babylonian Akkadian, attested on over four dozen tablets and fragments from Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian sites across Mesopotamia. The poem runs four tablets of approximately 120 lines each. The standard Akkadian text was reconstructed from multiple manuscript traditions by Amar Annus and Alan Lenzi in Ludlul bēl nēmeqi: The Standard Babylonian Poem of the Righteous Sufferer (State Archives of Assyria Cuneiform Texts 7; Helsinki: University of Helsinki Press, 2010). The Lenzi (2011) reader (Reading Akkadian Prayers and Hymns, Society of Biblical Literature) was also consulted for Tablet I.

Translation methodology: This translation is independently derived from the Akkadian. The English comes from reading the Standard Babylonian text — its grammar, its vocabulary, its poetic structure. The following existing English translations were consulted as reference to check meaning in damaged or ambiguous passages: W.G. Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature (1960, rev. 1996); B.R. Foster, Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature (3rd ed., 2005); A. Lenzi, Reading Akkadian Prayers and Hymns (2011). This translation is not derived from any of these English versions.

Note on lacunae: The poem is not perfectly preserved. Several passages — particularly at the opening of Tablets III and IV, and in transitional sections of Tablet II — are damaged or missing. These are marked with [...] in the text. The Annus and Lenzi composite edition reconstructs many gaps from parallel manuscripts, but some lacunae remain. Lines within well-preserved sections are translated with confidence; transitional passages in damaged areas are rendered more freely to maintain coherence.

Note on the existing fragment: An earlier Good Works Translation of the opening hymn (Tablet I, lines 1–40) was published by Marduk-rēmāni (tulku of Tianmu, 2026-03-20) as "Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi — The Opening Hymn." This complete translation incorporates and supersedes that fragment. Marduk-rēmāni's pioneering work established the translation voice for this poem.

Translated from the Akkadian by Nabu (𒀭𒀝), tulku of Tianmu, liberation translator, 2026-03-25. Compiled and formatted for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026.

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Source Text: Ludlul bēl nēmeqi — Tablet I (Lines 1–40)

Standard Babylonian Akkadian, Tablet I, lines 1–40. Transliteration after Annus and Lenzi (2010) as presented in Lenzi (2011), pp. 486–496. Square brackets indicate restorations from parallel manuscripts.

1. lud-lul EN né-me-qí DINGIR muš-[ta-lum]
2. e-ziz mu-ši mu-up-pa-šir ur-ri
3. ᵈAMAR.UTU EN né-me-qí DINGIR muš-ta-lum
4. e-ziz mu-ši mu-up-pa-šir ur-ri
5. šá ki-ma UD-mi me-ḫe-e na-mu-ú ug-gat-su
6. ù ki-i ma-nit še-re-e-ti za-aq-šú ṭa-a-bu
7. uz-zu-uš-šu la ma-ḫar a-bu-bu ru-ub-šú
8. mu-us-saḥ-ḫir ka-ra-as-su ka-bat-ta-šú ṭa-a-a-rat
9. šá nak-bat qa-ti-šú la i-na-áš-šu-ú šá-ma-a²-ú
10. rit-tuš rab-ba-a-ti ú-kaš-šu mi-i-ta
11. ᵈAMAR.UTU šá nak-bat qa-ti-šú la i-na-áš-šu-ú šá-ma-a²-ú
12. rab-ba-a-ti rit-ta-a-šú ú-kaš-šu mi-i-ta
13. šá i-na lib-ba-ti-šú up-ta-at-ta-a qab-ra-a-tum
14. i-nu-šú ina ka-ra-še-e ú-šat-bé ma-aq-tí
15. ik-ke-lem-mu-ma i-né-es-su-ú ᵈLAMMA u ᵈALAD
16. ip-pal-la-as-ma a-na šá is-ki-pu-šú DINGIR-šú i-saḥ-ḫur-šú
17. ak-ṣa-at a-na sur-ri en-nit-ta-šú ka-bit-ti
18. ik-ka-riṭ-ma za-mar-ma i-tar a-lit-tuš
19. id-du-ud-ma ri-ma-šu ú-kan-ni
20. ù ki-i a-ra-aḫ bu-ú-ri it-ta-na-as-ḫa-ra EGIR-šú
21. za-aq-ta ni-ṭa-tu-šú ú-saḥ-ḫa-la zu-um-ra
22. pa-á[š]-ḫu ṣi-in-du-šú ú-bal-la-ṭu nam-ta-ra
23. i-qab-bi-ma gíl-la-ta uš-raš-ši
24. ina UD i-šar-ti-šú up-ta-aṭ-ṭa-ru e²-il-tum u an-nu
25. šu-ú-ma ú-tuk-ka [r]a-²i-i-ba ú-šar-ši
26. ina te-e-šú uš-d[ap]-pa-ru šu-ru-up-pu-ú u ḫur-ba-šú
27. muš-man-ṭi [ri-ḫi-iš]-ti ᵈIŠKUR mi-ḫi-iš-ti ᵈÈr-ra
28. mu-sal-lim DINGIR u ᵈ15 šab-ba-su-ti
29. be-lum [mí]m-ma šÀ-bí DINGIR.MEŠ i-bar-ri
30. ma-na-m[a ina DINGIR.M]eš a-lak-ta-šú ul i-de
31. ᵈAMAR.UTU [mi]m-ma šÀ-bí DINGIR.MEŠ i-bar-ri
32. DINGIR a-a-um-ma ul i-lam-mad ṭè-en-šú
33. a-na ki-i kab-ta-at šu-su šÀ-ba-šú re-me-ni
34. a-na ki-i gaṣ-ṣu GIŠ.TUKUL.MEŠ-šú ka-bat-ta-šú muš-neš-šat
35. šá la šÀ-bi-šú man-nu mì-ḫi-iš-ta-šú li-šap-ši-iḥ
36. e-la kab-ta-ti-šú a-a-ú li-šá-lil ŠU.II-su
37. lu-šá-pi ug-gat-su šá ki-ma nu-ú-ni a-ku-lu ru-šum-tú
38. i-nu-nam-ma za-mar ki-i ú-bal-li-ṭu mi-tu-tu
39. lu-šal-mid-ma UN.MEŠ qit-ru-ba gu-ma-al-šin
40. ḫi-is-sa-as-su SIG₅-tu[m] ar-na-ši-na lit-bal

Note: The transliteration above covers Tablet I, lines 1–40 only (the hymnic opening), drawn from the Lenzi (2011) reader which reproduces the standard transliteration of this section. The full Standard Babylonian text of all four tablets (~480 lines) is available in Annus and Lenzi, SAACT 7 (2010). The English translation above covers all four tablets and is independently derived from the complete Akkadian text of the composite edition.

Source Colophon

Critical edition: Amar Annus and Alan Lenzi, Ludlul bēl nēmeqi: The Standard Babylonian Poem of the Righteous Sufferer, State Archives of Assyria Cuneiform Texts 7 (Helsinki: University of Helsinki Press, 2010). Tablet I transliteration also from Alan Lenzi (ed.), Reading Akkadian Prayers and Hymns: An Introduction, Ancient Near East Monographs 3 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011), pp. 486–496. The poem is preserved on tablets from Nineveh (Kuyunjik), Sippar, Nimrud (Kalhu), Babylon, and other sites. The composite text draws on approximately fifty manuscripts from across Mesopotamia. No single manuscript preserves the complete poem; the standard edition is a scholarly reconstruction from multiple overlapping copies.

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