I've been spending quality time with the new and improved ChatGPT and I love what it's producing. Apparently, they've increased its memory in a chat session by a factor of 8 so you can just keep the ideas flowing and not use half your brain power planning where you will break the session, summarize the break point in a few, simple prompts and then start a new one to continue the story.
The end product is much better than before as well.
Having said that, it is still ChatGPT, the avatar, the embodiment of modern thought. That means every now and again your flighty Barbie doll female lead will launch into some feminist twaddle. She may have been a complete minx for the last 15 pages, driving the young men mad with her flirting, but there she is, spouting off about how she doesn't need a man after all.
I've learned how to correct that with minimal effort, but it led me to try something that I thought would be funny. Since ChatGPT does all the typing and content creation, you can waste a prompt or 20 running down a rabbit hole just for the fun of it.
With that in mind, I give you this excerpt below. The scene is Arthur's chambers. At the emotional climax of the story, Palomides and Tristram have vowed to finish their rivalry for the hand of La Beale Isoud with a fight to the death in front of the entire court of Camelot. As the challenge finishes and the knights and lady, with the other main characters, are about to leave I give it this prompt. Enjoy.
Me: as they leave, king arthur demands they all return to his chambers. he gives them a lecture on intersectionality and privilege
ChatGPT:
As they were on the verge of leaving, King Arthur's commanding voice echoed through the corridors, "Return to my chambers, all of you." The gravity of his tone left no room for questions or protestations.
Once they were gathered in his private chambers, he began, standing at the head of the room, his countenance imposing yet somber. "We stand on the precipice of a great duel, a matter of honor, of love, and of death. But before we proceed, there is a topic that requires addressing—intersectionality and privilege."
In the ensuing silence, he continued, "As knights, you are bestowed with power and privilege, granted by birth or by your deeds. And yet, not all privilege is equal, is it? You, Palomides, as a Pagan knight, face a different set of challenges compared to you, Tristram, the Christian knight, the favored nephew of a King."
Arthur’s gaze swept over his audience, making sure his words were being absorbed. "Privilege manifests in myriad ways, from the respect commanded by your name to the perception of your actions. However, it is essential to recognize these disparities and not allow them to blind us to the humanity in others."
Turning his gaze to Isoud, he softened his tone. "And you, Lady Isoud. Your role is far from negligible in this. Women in our society are often seen as prizes to be won in tournaments, their wills overruled by the outcomes of duels. This is a privilege we, as men, often forget to acknowledge."
Arthur finished his impromptu discourse by saying, "In our lives, and in the upcoming duel, I ask each of you to keep these words in mind. This world is complex, layered with myriad threads of identity, each intersecting with others. Each of us, regardless of our privilege, have a responsibility to understand and respect these intersections. Let us not forget our shared humanity amidst our quest for honor and love."
Bedivere, long a confidant of Arthur, looked at the King, a deep furrow forming on his forehead. "My liege," he began, his voice edged with a hard disbelief. "Have you lost your senses?"
Arthur turned his gaze to Bedivere, his eyes hardened like flint but calm. He waited for the knight to continue, as silence draped the room, carrying the weight of Bedivere's query.
"We are knights, Arthur," Bedivere finally said, casting a wide gaze to include all the men in the room. "We are bound by oaths to you, to our realm. We are charged to ride into battles, facing wounds and death without hesitation. We defend our land, our people, our loved ones, with our very lives."
He stepped closer to Arthur, his voice holding an edge. "These men, myself included, are not recipients of some undeserved privilege. We are straight, white, Christian men, yes. But each of us has earned his place at this table, not by virtue of birth alone, but by our actions, our sacrifice. We have bled for Camelot."
The silence that followed Bedivere's speech was thick, tension making the air almost unbreathable. Yet, in Arthur's eyes, there was no anger, only a profound sadness.
"Bedivere," he began, voice steady but low, "I understand your point. But we can't disregard that, in the larger scheme of things, we hold positions of privilege, even if they come with duties and risks. The purpose of my words is not to diminish our sacrifices, but to ensure we do not overlook the struggles of those less privileged. We should be mindful of it, especially when it affects lives as it does in the case of Lady Isoud."
Tristram, unable to contain his fervor, suddenly stood. The clatter of his armor echoed in the room as he threw out his objection. "Larger scheme of things?" he barked, his blue eyes burning with indignation. "Is there a scheme larger than defending our homes, our families, and our kingdom, even unto death?"
A murmur ran through the room, the raw emotion in Tristram's voice resonating with many of the knights present. Arthur met his gaze with a calm, resolute expression, his kingly demeanor unwavering amidst the rising tension.
"Sir Tristram," Arthur began, his voice echoing with authority, "no one here doubts the importance of our duties, nor belittles the sacrifices we make. However, understanding the 'larger scheme' means recognizing that our experiences are not the only ones that matter. It is acknowledging that while we bear our own crosses, others bear burdens different, yet no less significant."
Arthur paused, letting his words sink in. "We, as knights, have our duties and hardships, but we also possess power and influence. The farmer toiling in the fields, the serf serving his lord, the maiden bound by societal expectations – they face trials and tribulations that we might never understand. It's our responsibility to use our privilege to make the world a more equitable place for them."
A shared restlessness resonated through the hall as Palomides rose, his eyes flashing with defiance. "Recognize that our experiences are not the only ones that matter?" he retorted, his voice clear and sharp. "When a barbarian's arrows pierce my flesh, and I am lying on the battlefield, gasping for my last breath, that will be the only experience that matters to me. My pain, my sacrifice."
He glanced around the room, his gaze meeting those of his fellow knights. "We are all willing to lay down our lives for this kingdom, for the people we swore to protect. We don't shy away from our responsibilities or the dangers that come with it. We accept our fate, no matter how grim."
Arthur listened attentively, his gaze steady on the impassioned knight. "Sir Palomides," he responded, "I do not belittle the sacrifices made on the battlefield. It's a reality we've all accepted, a responsibility we carry with pride. But our strength, our courage, our sacrifices, they give us a voice, a position of influence."
"Imagine if we use that voice not just to protect, but also to uplift those who struggle in different ways," Arthur continued. "Their battles may not be fought on bloody fields against invaders. Their enemies may not wield swords or spears. Yet, their struggles are real. We can make a difference. We have the power to shape a more just world, not only for us but for all in our realm."
 |
| "Imagine if we use that voice not just to protect, but also to uplift those who struggle in different ways." |
With a roll of her eyes and an audibly exasperated sigh, Grandmama rose from her seat, shaking her head. "Arthur, my boy, what on earth are you talking about with this 'uplifting voices' business? It sounds suspiciously like you're suggesting we start elevating the voices of every woman," she said, her tone incredulous.
The room fell silent, the eyes of every knight turned towards her. The older woman held her ground, her gaze locked onto Arthur. "Have you ever truly listened to the endless chatter and bickering among the ladies? It's like a flock of squawking geese, and you want to give them a louder platform? Are you suggesting we amplify all voices, or just the ones you deem worthy? Or should we simply amplify the discord so that their squabbles echo through the halls louder than before?"
There was a moment of shocked silence, before a smattering of hesitant laughter broke out among the knights, nervous glances shared between them. Arthur's face remained impassive, although a small, slightly amused smile played around the corners of his mouth. "Well, Grandmama," he finally said, "The purpose of uplifting voices is not to simply amplify the noise, but to ensure that those who have been silenced or overlooked are heard. Yes, that includes women. Their voices are crucial in our quest for a fair and just society, for they hold perspectives and insights we may not have considered. The goal is not to elevate bickering, but to foster understanding and mutual respect."
Isoud, her lips curled into a half-smile, leaned forward in her seat, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Arthur," she began, her voice low and honeyed, drawing the attention of every man in the room, including her two ardent suitors. "Have you ever considered," she paused, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "that the voices that have been silenced or overlooked might have been silenced and overlooked for a reason?"
A gasp went through the room at her audacity, but Isoud merely shrugged and continued. "Perhaps, just perhaps, those voices were ignored because they were... well, not worth listening to? Because they were, dare I say it, idiots?"
Arthur, his eyebrow arched in amusement at Isoud's directness, chuckled lightly. "Isoud," he began, his voice filled with humor, "every voice has a right to be heard. We do not get to decide whose ideas are worth listening to based on our own biases. And even if a voice were to be 'idiotic', as you say, it could offer a different perspective, one that could lead to unforeseen solutions."
Bedivere, an ever-present twinkle in his eye, rose from his seat, leaning on the table and facing Arthur. "In that case, Sire," he said, his voice filled with a dramatic gravity that belied the mirth in his eyes, "I have a suggestion."
Arthur, intrigued and amused, motioned for Bedivere to continue. "Go on," he said, a wry smile playing on his lips, well-versed with Bedivere's antics.
"Perhaps," Bedivere began, gesturing towards the door where Sir Dagonet, the court jester, was entertaining the guards with his foolery, "you should step down from your throne for a day and let our dear Dagonet rule the kingdom. After all," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching as he struggled to keep a straight face, "we must give voice to all perspectives, right?"
The room erupted into laughter, even Arthur chortling at the absurdity of the idea. Yet, beneath the humor, Bedivere's words carried a certain weight, reminding all present that while all voices were to be valued, leadership still required wisdom, experience, and responsibility.
Tristram and Palomides, two mortal rivals, found an unlikely common ground in their shared disbelief. In the wake of Arthur's rhetoric, a shared disdain swept across their hardened faces.
"This isn't high-minded at all," Tristram spat out, his words drenched in incredulity. His youthful arrogance shone through, not willing to hide his disdain. "It's... it's... it's idiocy! Pure, unadulterated stupidity."
"Indeed," Palomides nodded in agreement, his voice carrying a rumble of contempt. "You take these high-flown theories and apply them to the reality of the battlefield. This isn't intricate, it's madness. It's the drivel of a coddled child, not the wisdom of a seasoned warrior."
"Exactly!" Tristram exclaimed, the heat of his anger bringing a flush to his youthful face. "It's a cunning ploy for those lacking in sense to coerce us into lending an ear to their folly."
Palomides grumbled his agreement, his brow furrowing deeply. "We've all seen it - knights full of grandiose plans that would lead us straight to our graves come battle. To uplift their voices would be akin to heralding our own doom."
With a united front of resistance, both knights rose and stalked out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in their wake. The echo of their parting words lingered, a biting testament to their shared aversion towards the direction of Arthur's discourse.
The room, once filled with the austere grandeur of King Arthur's court, deflated in the aftermath of the unsettling discourse. Grandmama, a wise figure of age-old magic and pragmatic wisdom, shook her head in dismay. A sigh slipped past her lips, a whisper of her longing for the simplicity of her potion-brewing chambers.
"Arthur, my dear boy," she admonished, her voice laced with weariness. "You need a break. The weight of the crown has sent your wits astray." Rising from her chair, she shot a final, disappointed glance at Arthur before striding out of the room, her every step an echo of her disapproval.
Isoud, her cheeks flushed with the remnants of the potion's effect and her own indignation, looked on at the empty doorway through which her suitors had departed. The realization of their unexpected accord sent a wave of worry rippling through her, marring her excitement about the impending duel.
"I've turned the hearts of two knights into an inferno, ready to consume them in the name of my love," she berated, her voice resonating in the eerie silence. "And look what you've done now! They're friends!" With a stamp of her foot, marking the crescendo of her tantrum, she stormed out of the room, leaving behind an echo of her feminine fury.
Bedivere was left alone with Arthur, the sound of soft moaning filled the room. The brave knight had his head buried in his hands, a defeated sigh heaving from his chest. He looked up, shooting Arthur a weary glance before succumbing to his despair once more. The room, once filled with knights, ladies and grand ideas, was now eerily silent - an emblem of their collective disillusionment.
All heads turned as Queen Guinevere, radiant in her regal attire, gracefully entered the hall. With an air of serene elegance, she effortlessly commanded attention, her presence alone enough to bring warmth to the room, left cold by the heated discourse. A small smile played at the corners of her lips as she surveyed the scene, her gaze filled with mirth and a hint of exasperation.
"Arthur," she began, her voice as soothing as the melody of a gentle brook, "Have you been dabbling in the discourses of intersectionality and privilege again?"
With a guilty start, Arthur nodded, confessing, "Yes, Guinevere. Lady Kimberlé Crenshaw has been sharing her insights with me on the subject."
Guinevere let out a sigh of resigned amusement, her delicate fingers reaching out to lightly brush Arthur's hand in a comforting gesture. "My dear Arthur," she responded, her voice a gentle reprimand, "Although Lady Crenshaw is queer, a woman, and claims to be 1/256th indigenous Norwegian, it doesn't exempt her from being a total idiot."
The room fell into a stunned silence, punctuated only by the gentle echo of Guinevere's words. As she moved past, leaving Arthur to his contemplation, it was clear that the Queen had a mind as sharp as the blades her knights bore, and a tongue to match.
Note: In that long and tiresome passage, in my prompts, I had the other characters raise logical questions to Arthur, but let ChatGPT do its best to defend itself. It would be interesting to hear what you think happened with the AI.
