When Ancient Words Meet Modern Translation: A Three-Way Mystical Experiment
Over a decade ago, I wrote a poem exploring the depths of mystical experience through Sufi contemplation. The piece emerged from an attempt to translate deep questioning and spiritual feelings into the language of divine manifestation. You can read the original Arabic text here.
Recently, curiosity led me down an unexpected path. I found myself wondering: how would different AI systems handle the challenge of translating mystical Arabic poetry? What began as a simple request to Claude—"translate this carefully to English"—evolved into a fascinating comparative study.
First, I asked Claude to tackle my decade-old Sufi verse. Then, driven by curiosity about different approaches, I fed the same text to ChatGPT. Finally, almost as an afterthought, I decided to include Google Translate in the experiment, creating an unlikely trinity of artificial intelligences grappling with the ineffable.
The challenge was immense. Sufi poetry operates in a realm where language transcends its ordinary boundaries, where words like "اللاشكل" (shapelessness) and "وهلتي" (my terror/awe) carry mystical weight that resists direct translation. These terms exist at the intersection of philosophical inquiry and spiritual experience, drawing from centuries of Islamic mystical tradition.
What emerged was not just a translation exercise, but a window into how different AI systems approach the sacred, the untranslatable, and the deeply human experience of reaching toward the divine through language.
Three AI Minds, One Mystical Text
I decided to test both Claude and ChatGPT with the same challenge. Here's how each AI interpreted my decade-old spiritual journey:
Claude's Translation:
The clay's face turns toward me
and drops of its essence in the glow of my cracks
violate the hidden depths of longing:
if only mirrors would respond to the absolute's discourse.
The clay's name is a traveler, my first terror
seeks shelter in my last,
and my last is nebulous with visions
They become equal, whenever a speaker passes by:
Not every body is naked when it strips.
The air has the scent of the other soul's exile
and the other is vast with sand and dust
like the expanse of erosion to the edge of hardness and crucifixion
on walls of resemblance for a planet that landed in my solitude:
there, your selfness before you wandered,
and since you, you are a stranger.
Dust has the taste of pauses in storms
and those which, and those which will be
between the refuge of questioning
and stillness
draws me to strangeness to the point of separation
Silence has the echo of ink's resonance
random in wandering and steps:
which well will contain that wrapping
in the depths of the abyss.
In your depths lies history's spontaneity:
an old man bent over his knees,
a passerby glimpsing the withdrawal within you,
and a dark woman scorching your ears:
in prostration before birth, you were a prayer.
In some sphere, shapelessness was your first attribute
your middle is void, orphaned
like orbits of the hidden, delusional
and your end is a homeland that dismounted from its throne
like that hand which now caresses your forehead.
Google Translate's Translation:
The face of clay is towards me
And Qatar's water flows in the glow of my cracks
Pursuits the unseen of desire:
If only mirrors would respond to the speech of the Absolute.
The name of clay is a traveler and my first glance
He takes refuge in my other,
And my other is nebulous in visions
So that they become equal, whenever a speaker passes by:
Not all of the body is exposed when exposed.
The air has the scent of another soul's exile
And the other is vast, sandy and dusty
Like the spacious erosion of the edge of steel and steel
On the walls of the symmetry of a planet that landed in my solitude:
There, before you, your ego wandered,
And since you, you are a stranger.
Dust has the taste of separations in storms
And which, and which will be
Between the dormitory of questioning
And between stillness
Attracts me to strangeness to the point of separation
Silence has the sound of the ink of echo
Random wandering and footsteps:
Which well will contain that covering
In the depths of the ocean.
In your interior is the spontaneity of history:
An old man on his knees,
A passerby glimpses your introversion,
And a dark-skinned woman caresses your ears:
In prostration before birth, you were a prayer.
In a sphere, formlessness is your first characteristic.
Your middle is orphanless,
Like the orbits of the hidden, illusory,
And your end is a homeland that has descended from its throne.
Like that hand that now strokes your forehead.
ChatGPT's Translation:
The face of the clay turns toward me, its essence dripping into the glow of my fissures, violating the veiled depths of longing. If only the mirror could respond to the call of the Absolute.
The clay bears a name: the traveler. My first fear seeks haven in my final echo, and that final echo is fogged with vision. They are made equal—whenever a voice passes by. Not every body is bare when it undresses.
The air carries the exile of another soul, and that Other is vast— an expanse of sand and dust, of erosion stretching to the threshold of stone and crucifixion, on the walls of resemblance for a planet that descended in my solitude.
There, your essence stood before you had wandered. And ever since you, you have been a stranger.
Dust holds the taste of storms paused mid-breath— of those that were, and those still to come— between the shelter of questioning and the silence of surrender, drawing me toward estrangement to the brink of disconnection.
Silence carries the echo of ink's vibration, wandering in its steps, its rhythm uncontained: Which well could enclose this coiling at the heart of the abyss?
In your depths, the spontaneity of history lies waiting: an old man hunched upon his knees, a passerby catching the flicker of your retreat, and a dark woman scorching your ears.
In prostration—before the birth— you were a supplication.
In some ancient orbit, formlessness was your first mark. Your middle: void, orphaned— circling like the delusions of the hidden. And your end: a homeland that stepped down from its throne, like the hand now brushing across your brow.
Three Approaches to the Untranslatable
The differences between these translations reveal fascinating insights about how different AI systems approach mystical language - from sophisticated language models to basic machine translation:
Google Translate's Mechanical Approach:
- Literal word-for-word translation often produces surreal, unintentional poetry: "Qatar's water flows" instead of "drops of its essence"
- Syntax confusion creates accidental profundity: "Pursuits the unseen of desire"
- Cultural mistranslations: "dormitory of questioning" instead of "refuge of questioning"
- Oddly successful moments: "your middle is orphanless" - a beautiful accident that almost captures the mystical void
ChatGPT's Poetic Approach:
- Heightened mystical vocabulary: "supplication" instead of "prayer," "call of the Absolute"
- Dynamic, sensory imagery: "storms paused mid-breath," "essence dripping into the glow of my fissures"
- Cohesive mystical narrative that prioritizes spiritual coherence over literal accuracy
- Contemporary accessibility while maintaining mystical depth
Claude's Scholarly Approach:
- Structural fidelity to Arabic poetic form and line breaks
- Philosophical precision in maintaining paradoxes and tensions
- Literal accuracy balanced with poetic sensibility
- Preservation of the text's challenging, fragmentary nature
Fascinating Convergences and Divergences:
The mystical paradox "Not every body is naked when it strips" vs Google's "Not all of the body is exposed when exposed" - even machine translation preserves this core Sufi insight, though less elegantly.
The clay metaphor: Google's bizarre "Qatar's water flows" (mistranslating قطر as the country Qatar instead of "drops") accidentally creates Middle Eastern geographical mysticism!
The final image: Three different hands - ChatGPT's "brushing," Claude's "caresses," Google's "strokes" - each suggesting different qualities of divine touch.
Translation errors as accidental poetry: Google's "dormitory of questioning" transforms a spiritual refuge into an almost Kafkaesque institutional space - yet somehow captures the collective nature of mystical seeking.
The clay's face turns toward me
and drops of its essence in the glow of my cracks
violate the hidden depths of longing:
if only mirrors would respond to the absolute's discourse.
The clay's name is a traveler, my first terror
seeks shelter in my last,
and my last is nebulous with visions
They become equal, whenever a speaker passes by:
Not every body is naked when it strips.
The air has the scent of the other soul's exile
and the other is vast with sand and dust
like the expanse of erosion to the edge of hardness and crucifixion
on walls of resemblance for a planet that landed in my solitude:
there, your selfness before you wandered,
and since you, you are a stranger.
Dust has the taste of pauses in storms
and those which, and those which will be
between the refuge of questioning
and stillness
draws me to strangeness to the point of separation
Silence has the echo of ink's resonance
random in wandering and steps:
which well will contain that wrapping
in the depths of the abyss.
In your depths lies history's spontaneity:
an old man bent over his knees,
a passerby glimpsing the withdrawal within you,
and a dark woman scorching your ears:
in prostration before birth, you were a prayer.
In some sphere, shapelessness was your first attribute
your middle is void, orphaned
like orbits of the hidden, delusional
and your end is a homeland that dismounted from its throne
like that hand which now caresses your forehead.
Reflections on Machine Mysticism
What emerges from this three-way experiment is a fascinating spectrum of translation philosophy. Google Translate, in its mechanical literalness, accidentally creates surrealist mystical imagery - "Qatar's water flows" becomes an unintended geographical-spiritual metaphor. Its "failures" sometimes produce the most startling poetry.
ChatGPT approaches the text as a mystical experience to be recreated rather than merely translated, crafting flowing spiritual narrative that prioritizes emotional and mystical coherence over linguistic fidelity.
Claude seeks a scholarly balance - preserving the structural complexity and philosophical precision of Sufi discourse while making it accessible to English readers.
Each reveals different aspects of what happens when algorithmic interpretation meets ineffable experience:
- Machine translation strips away cultural context but sometimes stumbles into accidental profundity
- Advanced AI can recreate mystical atmosphere but risks over-interpretation
- Careful AI translation preserves complexity but may lose some experiential immediacy
The untranslatable elements remain telling: Google's complete confusion with "وهلتي" (my terror/awe), ChatGPT's transformation of it into generalized "fear," and Claude's choice of "terror" - each revealing different comfort levels with mystical intensity.
This experiment illuminates profound questions about machine understanding of spiritual experience. Can algorithms trained on human expression truly grasp the nuances of mystical states? Or are they sophisticated mirrors, reflecting back our own spiritual languages in new configurations?
Perhaps the answer matters less than the journey itself - these different attempts to bridge languages, traditions, and modes of understanding. Whether produced by neural networks or simple statistical matching, all translations remain fingers pointing at the moon - different gestures toward what ultimately cannot be captured in any language at all.
What fascinates me most is how each AI system's "personality" shaped its approach to the sacred. Which translation speaks to you? Does any capture something essential of mystical experience, or do certain truths remain forever beyond algorithmic reach?